iwWtlffl 

•  mmm 


Mi  * 


« H 


THE   SPINNING-WHEEL  AT  REST 


POEMS 


15V 

EDWARD  AUGUSTUS  JENKS 


ILLUSTRATED 


-HoLUNO.tr.  of  Plutarch 


BOSTON 
LEE    AND    SHEPARD    PUBLISHERS 

10     M  I  I,  K     ST  R  K  KT 
I  897 


'<? 


CT73 


COPYRIGHT    1897 

BY  EDWARD  A.  JENKS 


0  great-neart  sqadow-forrqs  of  long  ago! 

S\veet  fnerjds  \vqo  loved  n\e  —  r\ow  beyoqd  tqe  blue 
You  cannot  see  or  qear  rr\e,  well   I  Kqow: 

Yet  still  I  Y\ar\d  tqese  evening  flov^ers  to  you. 


you  \vl~iose  feet  still  liqqer  at  rqy  side, 
Wtiose  love  refreshes  nqe  lil^e  rqorriing  dew 
flqd  stays  tqe  shadows  of  life's  eventide, 
I  dedicate  tqese  curfew  crimes  to  you. 


Never  did  Poesy  appear 
So  full  of  heaven  to  me,  as  when 
I  saw  how  it  would  pierce  through  pride  and  fear 
To  the  lives  of  coarsest  men. 

I.OWELL — An  Incident  in  a  Rail)  oad  Car. 


PREFACE 

TN  preparing  this  volume  for  the  press,  the  author  felt  that  he 
•*-  might  almost  as  well  go  into  an  October  woods,  sweep  up  the 
crisp  leaves  that  carpet  its  solemn  crypts,  and  try  to  replace  them 
in  living  beauty  upon  the  bare  arms  of  the  beeches  and  maples,  as 
to  undertake  to  bring  these  wanderers  home  again.  But  certain 
occult  influences,  singularly  in  accord  with  some  subterranean  cur 
rent  of  his  own  thought,  have  encouraged  him  to  complete  the 
work.  After  all,  he  is  rather  glad  to  welcome  his  children  to  his 
fireside  once  more. 

At  the  end  are  a  few  notes,  referred  to  by  numbers  in  the  body 
of  the  book. 

E.   A.  J. 

CONCORD,  New  Hampshire. 


I  am  satisfied  if  it  cause  delight;  for  delight  is  the  chief,  if  not  the 
only,  end  of  poesy :  instruction  can  be  admitted  but  in  the  second 
place  ;  for  poesy  only  instructs  as  it  delights. 

DRVDEN — Def.  of  Essay  on  Dram.  Poesy . 

To  render  poetry  by  the  voice  and  sei/,e  it  by  the  ear,  exacts  an 
almost  sacred  attention.  There  must  exist  between  the  reader  and  his 
hearers  the  closest  bond,  without  which  the  electric  communication  of 
feeling  cannot  take  place.  If  this  cohesion  of  souls  is  lacking,  the  poet 
is  like  an  angel  trying  to  sing  the  hymns  of  heaven  amid  the  sneers  of 
hell.  BALZAC — Lost  Illusions. 


CONTENTS 

Adown  the  Flashing  Stream         ......  141 

A  Hundred  Years  Ago    .......  119 

A  Last  Visit 128 

"  A  Military  Gentleman,'1  by  Rembrandt            ...  30 

Anniversary  Poem       .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .  101 

A  Portrait  from  the  Sea            ......  76 

Asleep 189 

A  Twisted  Thing 155 

Blue  Eyes            .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .  157 

Bright  Passaconaway       ...                   ...  161 

Dandelions          .........  28 

Faces  from  Wonderland            ,          .          .          .          .          .  150 

Fair  Ormond      .........  97 

For  a  Birthday  Calendar                      .          .          .          .          .  149 

From  the  Piazza  .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .54 

Going  and  Coming           .....                     .  18 

Helene       ....                                         ...  163 

Her  Twelfth  Birth-Day   .          .  .43 

How  Can  You  Ever  Find  Me       ......  93 

Is  It  Not  Strange   .......  171 

June  Fancies      .........  44 

Marguerite     .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .  131 

Neman's  Land    .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .183 

O  Gemini        .........  72 

Oh  !  "T  was  the  Funniest  Thing  ......  65 

On  the  Road            .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .  25 

On  the  Rocks  at  York          .......  79 

Orphean  Music        ........  17 

O  the  Children  .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .  153 

Parallels          ......                     .          .  117 

Silver  Wedding  Bells                      81 

Song 144 


CONTENTS 

Song  of  the  Summer  Wind           .          .          .          .          .  .142 

Speed  the  Going — Welcome  the  Coming  49 

Spirit  of  Love     .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .  .136 

Spring  is  Coming   ........  192 

The  Boatman     .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .  -57 

Discovery         ........  26 

Gardens  of  Noddy        .          .          .          .          .          .  i  1 5 

Farm-House    ...                     ....  123 

Joy- Bells  Ring .185 

Land  of  Sleep           .......  36 

Life-Stream  .          .  .....      133 

Magi  and  the  Star   ......  137 

North  Wind's  Winter  Outing        .          .          .          .  -87 

Old  Man's  Yesterday         ...                     .  63 

Old  Stone  Bridge .        23 

Princes  in  the  Tower         .          .          .          .          .          •  71 
Reaper        ....                    ....      165 

Return .          .  41 

River  Beautiful    .          .          .          .          .          .          .  .175 

Road  and  the  River          .          .                     ...  74 

Spinning-Wheel  at  Rest       ....  194 

Sunset  Bridge           .          .          .          .          .          .          .  147 

Very  Biggest  Boy          .          .          .          .          .          .  .169 

Two  Apples  .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .  iii 

Under  the  Old  Elm     .          .          .          .          .                    .  .191 

Lender  the  Trees     ....                    ...  20 

Where  Roses  Grow     .          .          .          .          .          .          .  .126 

Whispers        ......  -33 

Who  Would  Stand  Still       ....  -37 

Ye  Balade  of  ye  Fretfull  Lytel  Robin                     .  90 

Ye  Old  Stone  Wall      .                                         .  .178 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Portrait — Frontispiece 

Orphee            .........  16 

The  Old  Stone  Bridge          .          .          .          .          .                    22,  24 

"A  Military  Gentleman,"  by  Rembrandt          .          .          .  31 

The  Land  of  Sleep      ........  36 

The  Return    .........  40 

June  Fancies 

"  Where  the  lilies  drink  themselves  into  dreams"        .  47 
Speed  the  Going — Welcome  the  Coming 

"  Beneath  the  stars"         ......  50 

"  Ships  in  ice-floes  jammed "          .          .          .          .          .51 

The  dead  old  year   .          .          .          .          .          .          .  52 

The  Presidential  Range        ...                     ...  55 

The  Boatman 

"The  glad  wild  bell"  ....  .60 

The  Old  Man's  "Yesterday" 

"  As  the  tall  corn  parted  right  and  left"         ...  62 

The  Princes  in  the  Tower        ......  70 

O  Gemini  ........  73 

A  Portrait  from  the  Sea            ......  76 

On  the  Rocks  at  York 

"  Purring  in  soft  content,  in  sleepy  ease"            .          .  78 

Ocean  surf  .........  80 

Silver  Wedding  Bells 

The  wedding  ring         .......  84 

The  North  Wind's  Winter  Outing 

"  You  scurry  away  on  mischief  bent  "    ....  86 

The  tempest    ........  88 

Fair  Ormond       .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .100 

"  The  clustered  yellow  globes "      f.          .          .          .  96 

A  live  oak  .........  98 

The  Tomoka  river                        .....  99 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Two  Apples 

"  Rosy-red  lips  must  not  taste  of  it  now"  .          .  i  10 

"  Cling  to  the  tree !  Steady"         .          .          .          .          -113 
A  Hundred  Years  Ago 

The  old  church    .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .120 

The  Farm-House 

"  The  ghostly  mill"     ....... 

"  Where  coiled  it  lies  "    ...... 

Where  Roses  Grow 

Wheat  and  sickle     .  .....  127 

Marguerite          .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .          -130 

The  Magi  and  the  Star   ...  ...  139 

Song  of  the  Summer  Wind 

Moonlight        ........ 

The  Sunset  Bridge 

"At  last  the  bridge  was  finished"     .... 
For  a  Birthday  Calendar 

The  night-blooming  cereus        ,          .          .  .          .  149 

Faces  from  Wonderland       .          .          .          .          .          .  1 5 1 

Bright  Passaconaway      .         .         .         .         .         .         .          162 

"Castle  on  the  Rhine"         .  .          .          .          .      160 

The  Reaper 

"  The  voiceless  village "       .  .          .          .          .      166 

The  Very  Biggest  Boy 

"  A  boy  who  gives  no  quarter"     .          .          .          .          .168 

The  pet  ........  170 

Is  It  Not  Strange 

Life  from  death         .          .          .          .          .          .          .  172 

The  River  Beautiful    .          .          .          .          .          .          .  1 74 

Y«  Old  Stone  Wall 180 

Neman's  Land 

"  A  beautiful  Nowoman's  hand  "       .         .         .         .          182 
Asleep 

"  Dear  tired  Mother  Earth  has  gone  to  sleep"   .          .  188 

November  scene  .          .          .          .          .          .          .189 


THE  SPINNING-WHEEL  AT  REST. 


ORPHEE 


POEMS 


ORPHEAN    MUSIC 


fHE  legendary  Orpheus  and  his  lyre,— 
Who  led  the  wood-nymphs  captive  at  the  sound 
Of  his  clear  voice  and  sentient  strings,  and  bound 
The  streams  with  bands  so  soft  they  could  not  tire, 
Thrilling  the  sylvan  wilds  with  sweet  desire 
To  staunch  for  aye  the  ever-bleeding  wound 
Left  by  his  lost  Eurydice,  —  are  found 
Again  when  soft  October's  leafy  fire 

Burns  on  the  silent  mountains,  and  the  woods 
Are  bursting  with  the  melody  that  springs 
From  hidden  chambers  —  chauntings  low  and 

deep, 
Fit  music  for  these  sacred  .solitudes. 

Here,  breathless,  all  things  listen  as  he  sings, 
And,  listening,  fall  like  children  into  sleep. 


GOING    AND    COMING 


the  great  round  vSun, 
^-    Dragging  the  captive  Day 
Over  behind  the  frowning  hill, 
Over  beyond  the  bay  — 

Dying  : 
Coming—  the  dusky  Night, 

Silently  .stealing  in, 

Wrapping  himself  in  the  soft,  warm  couch 
Where  the  golden-haired  Day  had  been 
Lying. 

Going  —  the  bright,  blithe  spring  : 

Blossoms  !   how  fast  ye  fall, 
Shooting  out  of  your  starry  sky 

Into  the  darkness  all 

Blindly  ! 
Coming  —  the  mellow  days  ; 

Crimson  and  yellow  leaves  ; 
Languishing  purple  and  amber  fruits 

Kissing  the  bearded  sheaves 
Kindly  ! 

Going  —  our  early  friends  ; 
Voices  we  loved  are  dumb  ; 


18 


GOING   AND    COMING 

Footsteps  grow  dim  in  the  morning  dew 
Fainter  the  echoes  come 

Ringing  : 
Coming  to  join  our  march — 

Shoulder  to  shoulder  pressed — 
Gray-haired  veterans  strike  their  tents 
For  the  far-off  purple  west, 
Singing  ! 

Going — this  old,  old  life  ; 

Beautiful  world  !   farewell ! 
Forest  and  meadow  !   river  and  hill ! 

Ring  ye  a  loving  knell 

O'er  us  ! 
Coming — a  nobler  life  ; 

Coming — a  better  land  ; 
Coming — the  long,  long,  nightless  day  ; 

Coming — the  grand,  grand 
Chorus  ! 


UNDER    THE    TREES 

fHE  mellow  music  of  this  dewy  autumn  eve 
Tinged  with  the  purple  clusters  of  the  bosky  vine, 
Falls  soothingly  upon  the  ear,  as  on  the  heart 
The  healing  benison  of  sacramental  wine. 

The  while  light  fingers  wake  the  subtle  harmonies 
That  sleep  among  the  swaying  branches  overhead, 

We  '11  watch  the  unseen  angels  pave  the  sky  with  stars, 
O'er  which  the  phantom  coursers  of  night's  Queen  will 
tread. 

E'en  now  we  hear  her  wheels  behind  the  breathless  hills  ; 

And  see  !   heraldic  lights  go  shooting  up  the  sky  : 
She  comes  !   With  queenly  grace  she  guides  her  foaming 
steeds, 

Dispensing  regal  gifts,  love  beaming  in  her  eye. 

A  shower  of  silver  coin  falls  gleaming  at  our  feet, 

Struck  from  the  leafy  dies  that  swing  above  our  heads  ; 

And  sweetly  tired  Nature  breathes  her  evening  prayer 
Beneath  the  filmy  sheet  the  mild  Queen-mother  spreads. 


THE    OLD    STONE    BRIDGE1 

§ENYY  you,  old  Bridge  ! 
To  stand  upon  the  border 
Land  of  shadow,  rock,  and  river, 
Where  the  burnished  sun-spears  quiver 
Forever  and  forever, 

And  the  song  to  the  old  warder 
Endeth  never — encleth  never  ! 
Ah  !    I  envy  you,  old  Bridge  ! 

I  envy  you,  old  Bridge  ! 

Oh  !  how  the  waters  sparkle 
As  they  whelm  your  feet  with  kisses  ! 
E'en  the  constellation  Pisces 
Scarce  could  blaze  with  wanner  splendor  ! 

Then  to  see  the  wyaters  darkle 
With  a  sadness  sweet  and  tender 
As  the}'  pass  beyond  the  Bridge  ! 

I  envy  you,  old  Bridge  ! 

You  never  tire  of  gazing 
At  the  fishes,  deftly  speckled, 
At  the  ledges,  sunshine  freckled, 


23 


7Y/A'    OLD   STONE  BRIDGE 

Nor  of  listening  to  the  trebles, 

So  sweet  and  so  amazing, 
Of  the  water  011  the  pebbles. 
Yes  !  I  envy  you,  old  Bridge. 


ON    THE    ROAD 

wondered  how  the  day  could  be  so  bright — 
Those  two  disciples — and  their  hearts  so  sore  : 
They  wondered  how  the  birds  could  sing — how  light 
Could  ever  shine  again  on  sea  or  shore. 

The  way  was  long — their  tear-hung  eyes  were  dim  ; 

Their  hearts  were  broken— Faith  and  Hope  had  fled  ;- 
But  as  they  walked,  they  thought  and  talked  of  Him 

Who  yesterday  lay  still  among  the  dead. 

The  two — oh,  wonder  ! — were  increased  to  three  : 
How  oft  it  happens,  when  our  loving  thought 

Has  stretched  across  an  intervening  sea 

Of  time  or  space,  it  brings  the  friend  we  sought. 

The  heart-sore  travellers  were  increased  to  three  : 
Just  how  it  happed  those  brave  hearts  never  knew  ;- 

They  knew  that  they  were  blind — now  they  could  see, 
While  words  of  comfort  fell  like  falling  dew. 

"  Abide  with  us  !"      "  And  he  went  in."     How  sweet 
To  know  that  when  we  open  wide  the  door, 

We  shall  not  wait  to  hear  His  coming  feet, 
But  He  will  sup  with  us  forevermore. 

25 


THE    DISCOVERY 

O£  AM  not  young,  nor  am  I  very  old  ; 

(jty    But  Maud  is  young,  and  beautiful,  and  sweet. 

My  eyes  are  gray,  but  not  the  kind  called  cold  ; 

Not  cold,  at  least,  when  gray  and  brown  eyes  meet. 
For  sometimes,  when  she  lays  her  soft  white  hand 

Upon  my  shoulder,  and  I  clasp  her  waist, 
The  sternest  anchorite  could  not  withstand 

Her  luscious  beauty,  nor  forbear  to  taste. 

I  am  not  very  old,  I  said  ; — but  wait ! 

Behind  all  this  there  's  something  must  be  told  : 
Perhaps  I  'm  passing  on  with  steadier  gait 

Than  I  imagined  to  the  years  called  "  old." 
So  to  the  point :    'T  wras  only  yesterday 

That,  standing  at  my  window  looking  west, 
I  saw  the  tired  Sun  lay  himself  away 

On  pillows  fiery  as  the  hangbird's  breast : 

I  stood  and  watched  him,  dreaming  all  the  while 
Of  that  fair  face  beset  with  golden  rings, 

And  of  some  far-off,  dim,  enchanted  isle, 
And  airy  palaces  and  queens  and  kings, — 

When  suddenly  the  door  flew  open  wide 
And  all  the  gathering  twilight  fled  away, 

26 


THE  DISCOVERY 

For  Maud  came  tripping  lightly  to  my  side, 
Like  perfumed  sunbeams  to  the  fields  of  May. 

My  arm  stole  round  her,  and  her  sweet  brown  eyes 

Raised  their  long  lashes  to  my  bending  face, 
When  all  at  once  there  flashed  a  bright  surprise 

From  out  those  ambushed  depths  of  maiden  grace  : 
"  Oh,  Love  !"  she  cried,  "  I  see  a  silver  thread — 

A  gleam  of  winter — in  your  tawny  beard  ! 
I  '11  smother  it  with  molten  gold,"  she  said  : 

Her  head  bent  low — the  silver  disappeared. 


27 


DANDELIONS 

dd  <r£j2lOLD  in  my  pocket!'   girlie  mine  ?     Oh,  no — oh, 

~jpr   no  ! — not  I  ! 
But    I   can    show   you   where  the    pretty   golden   eagles 

lie 
As  thick  as  lighted  candles  in  a  summer  evening  sky. 

"Come!    there's  my  little   finger!    You   must  hold  on 

snug  and  tight 
While  we  go  romping  down  the  lane. —  —There  !    stop 

just  here  ! How  bright 

They  gleam  among  the  soft  green  grasses  !      Left,  and 

front,  and  right 

"Their  yellow  laughter  greets  us,  and  the  speaking 
disks  of  gold 

Look  up  confidingly — just  sweet — not  pert,  nor  over 
bold  : 

The  Horn  of  Plenty  shook  them  over  all  the  waiting 
wold. 

"  But  some  bright  morning,  when  you  hear  the  early 
robins  call, 

There  '11  be  no  gleaming  gold — instead,  a  spindle,  hol 
low,  tall, 

And  perched  upon  its  breezy  top  a  fu/./y  silver  ball— 


DANDELIONS 

"  Each  ball  a  silver  quiver  full  of  silver  javelins, 

Just  large  enough  for  fairy  queens  to  hurl  at  fairy  sins — 

Or  fairies  use,  in  fastening  their  hats  or  scarfs,  as  pins  ! 

"  A  morning  breath  will  scatter  them,  and  on  the  wind's 

soft  wings 

The  golden  eagles  fly  away,  and  all  the  silver  things  : 
So  bright  illusions  always  fade — like  promises  of  kings." 


29 


"A    MILITARY    GENTLEMAN,"    BY    REM 
BRANDT 

iron  face,  remorseless,  grim,  and  cold  ; 
An  eye  as  piercing  as  the  gleaming  sword 
His  mighty  arm  hath  swung  when  battle  rolled 

Its  thunderous  tide  along  ;   a  voice  that  roared 
Fierce  songs  and  battle-cries  in  hot  pursuit 

Of  flying  foes  ;   a  mouth  as  strange  to  love 
And  all  sweet  offices,  as  heavenly  fruit 
To  lips  of  angels  fallen  from  above. 

Rembrandt !   thy  matchless  hand  and  eye  are  dust : 

"A  military  gentleman"  unknown  : 
No  more  his  vengeful,  stalwart  arm  will  thrust 

The  ruthless  sabre  to  the  quivering  bone,— 
But  on  thy  canvas,  darker  grown  with  years, 
Still  lives  the  shadow  of  uncounted  tears. 


3° 


WHISPERS 

sunny  summer  afternoon, 
^iX   When  lazy  lay  the  languid  moon 

Upon  the  rocking  main, 
Though  buried  deep  in  sagest  books, 
Xo  light  but  gleams  from  pebbly  brooks 

Flashed  through  my  aching  brain. 

My  hat  of  straw,  with  tattered  crown, 
From  rust}'  nail  looked  kindly  down, 

And  waved  its  silken  band  ;  — 
vSoft  music  floated  on  the  air  ; 
A  breezy  finger  touched  my  hair, 

And  cooled  my  fev'rish  hand. 

Across  the  lawn,  and  by  the  well 
Whose  dripping  water  joyous  fell 

Back  to  its  darkling  nest ; 

O'er  meadows  shorn,  through  witching  glade, 
I  sought  the  silver  poplar's  shade, 

And  laid  me  down  to  rest. 

A  breezy  finger  touched  my  eyes — 
They  closed  upon  the  azure  skies  ; 

But  whispers  from  above 
Came  trembling  from  the  silver  leaves, 


33 


WHISPERS 

As,  when  a  child  its  mother  grieves, 
She  pleads  her  tender  love. 

"  O  wandering  brook  !  will  you  not  stay 
Awhile  beneath  my  shade  to-day, 

And,  roaming,  tell  me  why  ? 
For  years  I  've  pressed  your  mossy  bank, 
And  of  your  bounty  freely  drank, 

Yet  still  you  rimple  by  !" 

The  water  o'er  the  polished  stones 
Went  flashing  on — but  answering  tones 

Came  from  its  shining  way  : 
"  I  cannot  stay,  O  gracious  tree  ! 
A  thousand  tongues  are  calling  me, 

And  gladly  I  obey. 

' '  Since  dreamy  midnight  fled  before 
The  op'ning  of  yon  orient  door, 

I  've  wandered  far  and  wide  ;— 
The  meadows  quaff  my  brimming  cup  ; 
Wild  flowers  in  troops  come  springing  up, 

And  linger  at  my  side. 

'  The  swallow  tastes  my  limpid  breast  ; 
The  sparrow  builds  her  leafy  nest 

Among  my  dancing  plumes, 
And  whispers  to  me  as  I  pass, — 
While  all  the  wild  flowers  in  the  grass 

Are  offering  me  perfumes. 


34 


WHISPERS 

"  All  nature  woos —  -  Ah  !  there  's  my  joy  ! 
A  barefoot,  curly-headed  boy 

Awaits  me  ou  the  sand  ; 
A  maiden,  too,  with  soft  brown  hair, 
And  form  and  face  supremely  fair — 

I  '11  kiss — her tiny — 

The  voice  was  lost  among  the  trees  ; 
The  poplar  shivered  in  the  breeze  ; 

A  leaf  came  toppling  down, 
And  roused  me  from  my  dreamy  bed, 
With  beads  of  dew  upon  my  head 

Like  gems  in  kingly  crown. 


35 


THE    LAND   OF   SLEEP 

Silence  !      World  forever  dumb  ! 
Ten  thousand  rcons  lie  within  thy  cold, 
Inexorable  arms  ; — and  they  enfold 
Rich  argosies  of  human  lives,  that  come 
From  out  thy  frigid  breast  into  the  hum 

And  fever  of  our  thought,  with  wealth  untold 
Of  Arctic  secrets — nevermore.      Bells  tolled, 
Unheard,  their  exit ;   and  the  muffled  drum 
Of  soundless  under-heaving  waters  rolled 
Its  sullen,  ice-cold  music  through  the  vast 

Unsympathetic  waste  of  fro/en  breath 
That  spans  the  bra/en  Northland,  when  the  bold 
True  hearts  grew  strangely  still,  and,  shudd'ring, 

passed 
Into  the  bosom  of  this  double  death. 


WHO    WOULD    STAND    STIU, 

M/])H  !   it  is  beautiful — this  growing  old  ! 
XlX  Who  would  stand  still ! 
K'en  while  the  Morning  bathes  herself  in  gold, 
The  Sun  climbs  up  the  hill. 

Who  would  stand  still !     The  world  we  live  in  spins 

Along  the  ways 
Worn  smooth  by  thundering  ages,  and  begins 

To  show  her  length  of  days. 

We  must  not  ga/.e  upon  the  backward  way 

With  vain  regrets  : 
Bright  pictures  mingle  with  the  evening's  gray — 

A  few  sad  silhouettes. 

Only  the  old  have  store  of  memories  : 

Their  wistful  ears 
Are  trained  to  hold  the  splendid  melodies 

And  songs  of  other  years. 

And  every  step  they  take — each  silver  hair — 

But  marks  the  near 
And  yet  still  nearer  clay,  when  over  there 

The  white  tents  disappear. 


WHO    WOULD   STAND   STILL 

One  bugle  call — and  then  the  glad  discharge  ! 

Just  think  of  it ! 
To  know  you  stand  upon  the  river's  marge — 

The  very  brink  of  it ! 

O  boyhood's  friend  ! — that  only  yesterday 

Exhaled  like  mist — 
You  seemed  in  sweet  content  to  float  away 

On  waves  of  amethyst : 

And  howsoever  bright  this  dear  old  world 

May  seem  to  be, 
The  best  is  where  last  evening's  sunset  furled 

Its  saffron  sails  for  thee. 


~ 


THE    RETURN2 

Ci  'PpHRKE  years  !   I  wonder  if  she  '11  know  me  : 

•'  I  limp  a  little,  and  I  left  one  arm 
At  Petersburg,  and  I  am  grown  as  brown 

As  the  plump  chestnuts  on  my  little  farm  ; 
And  I  am  shaggy  as  the  chestnut-burs, 
But  ripe  and  sweet  within,  and  wholly  hers. 

"  The  darling,  how  I  long  to  see  her  ! 

My  heart  outruns  this  feeble  soldier  pace  ; 
For  I  remember,  after  I  had  left, 

A  little  Charlie  came  to  take  my  place. 
Ah,  how  the  laughing  three-year-old  brown  eyes — 
His  mother's  eyes — will  stare  with  pleased  surprise  ! 

"  I  'm  sure  they  're  at  the  corner  watching  ; 

I  sent  them  word  that  I  should  come  to-night ; — 
The  birds  all  know  it,  for  they  crowd  around. 

Twittering  their  welcome  with  a  wild  delight  ; 
And  that  old  robin  with  a  halting  wing, — 
I  saved  her  life  three  years  ago  last  spring. 

"  Three  years  !   Perhaps  I  am  but  dreaming, 

For,  like  the  Pilgrim  of  the  long  ago, 
I  've  tugged  a  weary  burden  at  my  back, 

Through  summer's  heat  and  winter's  blinding  snow, 

41 


Till-:   RETURN 

Till  now  I  reach  my  home,  my  darling's  breast, 
Where  I  can  throw  my  burden  off — and  rest." 


When  morning  came,  the  early  rising  Sun 
L,aid  his  light  fingers  on  a  soldier  sleeping 

Where  a  soft  covering  of  bright  green  grass 
Over  two  lowly  mounds  was  lightly  creeping, 

But  waked  him  not ; — his  was  the  rest  eternal, 

Where  the  brown  eyes  reflected  love  supernal. 


HER   TWELFTH    BIRTHDAY 

that  far  land  where  Jordan's  .silver  stream 
Rolls  onward,  pensive,  to  the  silent  sea, 
Dwelt  Mary,  lovely  as  an  angel's  dream, — 
The  sweetest  flower  that  bloomed  in  Galilee. 

So  beautiful  was  she,  so  queenly  fair, 
So  full  of  purity  and  heavenly  worth, 

The  Father  chose  her  from  the  maidens  there 
To  be  the  one  beloved  of  all  the  earth. 


In  the  sweet  vale  where  Sugar  River  sings 
Its  love-songs  to  the  music  of  the  bells, 

And  all  the  throbbing  air  is  full  of  wings 
Of  bees  and  birds,  another  Mary  dwells  : 

My  Mary — darling  of  her  father's  heart, 
The  centre  of  a  thousand  hopes  and  fears  : 

O  Son  of  Mar\- !  haste  to  take  her  part 

When  I  have  passed  the  Gateway  of  the  Years. 


43 


JUNE    FANCIES 

uj/])N  turning  the  leaves  of  my  memory 

XJX        I  found  a  wonderful  June, 

Where  the  leaves  were  as  green  as  its  hills  were  blue  ; 

Where  the  birds  were  as  blithe  as  their  vows  were  true 

Where  the  humming-bird  and  the  bumble-bee 

Made  music  as  sweet  as  sweet  could  be — 

A  tremulous,  wing-born  rune — 
That  comes  floating  to  me  on  this  breezy  knoll 
As  the  flood-tides  of  memory  over  me  roll. 

In  that  wonderful  June  of  the  haze-clad  years, 
That  thirty  springs  have  embalmed  in  tears, 

I  dreamily  strolled 

Through  a  forest  old 

To  a  home  where  the  lights  and  shadows  lay 
'Neath  the  swaying  boughs  the  live-long  day  ; 
For  there  the  Queen  of  the  forest  shades, 
The  wild  flowers  twined  in  her  mazy  braids, 
Held  daily  court  in  her  breezy  castle, 
And  a  loving  heart  for  her  trust}*  vassal. 

But  I  stopped  a  beechen  tree  beneath 
To  list  to  the  music  the  green  woods  breathe 
From  every  dell  of  the  wild  wood, 
Where  the  breezy  swells 
Make  the  billowy  bells 
Ring  soft  in  the  ears  of  childhood, — 


44 


And  the  rising  and  falling  tide  of  green 
That  laved  the  cliffs  of  the  blue  unseen 

Unshipped  my  soul  from  its  moorings. 
vSo,  lying  beneath  that  old  beech  tree, 
In  the  wine-dark  depths  of  that  summer  sea, 
My  spirit  rose  on  its  poor  wings 

Through  countless  fathoms 
Of  leafy  chasms, 
To  where  a  boat 
Had  chanced  to  float 
From  the  mystic  realm  of  phantasms. 

In  that  gossamer  barque,  by  the  world  unseen, 
On  the  surging  waves  of  that  sea  of  green, 
vS  winging  and  singing, 
Singing  and  swinging, 

Floating  along  in  the  ambient  air, 
I  gathered  the  forest  dreams  to  my  breast 
Till  my  soul  was  full  of  the  strange  unrest — 
The  dancing  and  tossing  and  gleaming  boughs, 
The  whispered  songs  and  the  whispered  vows — 

That  greeted  me  everywhere. 

The  sun  was  rollicking  down  the  west, 
Proud  as  a  girl  in  a  scarlet  vest, 
When  I  anchored  above  the  staid  old  tree 
Where  I  left  myself  when  I  went  to  sea. 

Down  through  the  dim  aisles 
And  over  the  rocks, 


45 


JUNE   FANCIES 

Climbing  the  old  stiles, 

And  threading  the  walks 
Which  the  steady  tramp  of  the  thirsty  kine 
Had  left  in  many  a  tortuous  line 
Down  to  the  puncheon  broad  and  deep, 
Where  the  hills  deposit  the  wine  they  weep, — 
Where  the  lilies  drink  themselves  into  dreams 
Of  scintillant  wings  by  the  babbling  streams, — 

And  at  waning  day 

My  devious  way 
Had  led  to  the  marge  of  the  shadowy  bay. 

On  the  magic  mirror's  circling  brim 

The  veeries  were  singing  their  evening  hymn, — 

But  hushed  their  .song,  as  in  days  of  yore 

When  all  the  world  was  entranced  before 

The  beauteous  Eve,  in  her  heaven-born  dress, 

A  vision  of  new-world  loveliness  ; 

For  a  form  delicious  as  Eden  graced, 

Half  hid  by  the  ripples  that  kissed  her  waist, 

Was  sporting  there  in  the  amber  water — 

The  sun  and  the  greenwood's  fairest  daughter. 

I  turned  aside  to  a  pathway  old 

Full  of  the  wondrous  vision. 
And  met  my  love  in  the  vanishing  gold, 

Roaming  the  fields  elysian. 
What  followed  there  I  dare  not  tell  : 

But  it  was  a  grand  old  tune 
Which  the  green  leaves  sang, — and  they  sang  it  well, 

In  that  wonderful  evening  in  June. 

46 


SPEED  THE  GOING—  WELCOME  THE  COMING 

Yicksburg,  Miss.,  January  i,  1869 


night  the   calm,  sweet   Moon   looked   clown 
and  wept 
To  see  the  Old  Year  —  tottering,  patient,  pale  — 

vSlow  toiling  toward  the  town  while  others  slept  ;  — 
His  "  frosty  pow  "  no  kindly  covering  wore  ; 

His  silver  locks  the  rudest  night  winds  tossed, 
And  snatched  his  staff,  —  the  icicle  he  bore,— 

Out  of  the  fingers  stiffened  with  the  frost. 
Alone,  deserted,  friendless,  houseless,  cold, 

Vnpitied  and  unloved  he  seemed  to  be, 
Who  once  was  young  and  beautiful  and  bold 

As  e'er  was  rover  on  the  untamed  sea. 

Well  we  remember  with  what  ringing  cheers 

He  coasted  down  the  snow-clad  early  days, 
To  find  his  curly  head  all  drenched  with  tears 

The  blue-eyed  Spring-time  wept  at  Love's  delays  ; 
And  how  he  wantoned  with  the  birds  and  bees, 

And  kissed  the  blossoms  till  their  cheeks  were  flushed 
With  ecstasy  of  love  and  Love's  decrees  : 

And  then,  with  all  their  blissful  passion  hushed 
Into  the  twilight  of  a  perfect  peace, 

The  young  Year  glided  out  beneath  the  stars, 

49 


SPEED    THE   GOING— WELCOME    THE   COMING 

Shrugging  his  shoulders  at  his  quick  release, 

And  with  one  bound  cleared  all  the  vSummer  bars  ! 


Anon  we  saw  him  lounging  'neath  the  trees, 

Sporting  in  shady  woods  and  waterfalls, 
Fanning  himself  with  every  passing  breeze, 

And  listening  the  herdsman's  cattle-calls, — 
Until  plump  Autumn,  bursting  with  her  stores, 

Brought  votive  offerings  to  the  pursy  Year, 
And  opened  wide  her  golden  folding-doors 

To  any  debauchee  in  search  of  cheer. 

We  saw  him  enter,  and  around  him  sprung 

A  hundred  nymphs,  in  beauty's  filmiest  robes, 
Bringing  him  cups  of  purple  juices  wrung 

From  out  the  sweet  hearts  of  the  clustering  globes, 
And  loading  him  with  lusciousness,  until 

His  arms,  broad  shoulders,  back,  neck,  head,  and  all 
Were  one  vast  mass  of  mellow  fruits  ; — and  still 

(The  doors  swung  to)  we  did  not  see  him  fall  ! 


STEED    Till-:   GOING— WELCOME   THE   COMING 

But  when  last  eve  we  saw  him  toiling  on, 

And  knew  his  hours  were  numbered,  we  went  out 
And  took  him  by  the  arm — his  .strength  was  gone — 

And  sought  to  lead  him  to  discourse  about 
The  story  of  his  life — a  "  fourfold  tale  " 

But  broken  words3  were  all  that  met  the  ear  : 
' '  Starvation  "  —  "  floods  "  —  "  oppression  "  —  "  woe 

and  wail ' ' 
' '  Scallawags  ' ' — "  insurrection" — ' '  Ku  Klux  ' ' 

' '  fear  ' ' 
"  Drought  "    —  "  reconstruction  "    -  "  constitution 

damned  ' ' 

"The    freedmen's    bureau" — "earthquakes" 
"  pestilence  " 


' '  Volcanoes  ' ' 
jammed  " 
"  Collisions  "— 


robbers  "    -  "  ships    in    icefloes 
'  carpet-baggers  "  — "  accidents  " 


SPEED    THE   GOING— WELCOME    THE   COMING 


When  o'er  the  sleeping  city  the  great  tongue 

Of  the  cathedral  bell  .struck  ' '  One — two — three  ' ' 

To  "  twelve  " — and  then  the  Old  Year  lay  among 
His  myriad  brothers  that  had  ceased  to  be  : 

The  iron  hammer  which  that  giant  swung 
Had  beaten  out  his  life  and  set  him  free  ! 


In  that  weird  hour  we  stood  alone, — or  thought 
We  stood  alone,— and  heard  the  mighty  wings 

Of  Father  Time,  who  crumbles  worlds  to  nought, 
Go  sweeping  by,  bearing  the  shadowy  things 

Of  the  dead  Past  to  their  eternal  home, — 

The  chief  among  them  EIGHTEEN  SIXTY-EIGHT, — 

And  with  his  vast  collection,  the  great  tome 


52 


SPEED    THE   GOING— WELCOME    THE   COMING 

That  wraps  all  histories  like  the  Book  of  Fate  : — 
And  so  we  said, — "  Farewell,  thou  grand  Old  Year  ! 

With  all  thy  faults  and  follies  thou  did'st  bring 
Pleasures  and  benefits  untold — perchance  a  tear ! 

We  '11  shed  a  few  for  thee,  thou  fallen  king  !" 

A  watchman  on  the  Southern  walls,  we  cry, — 

' '  The  day  is  breaking  !   rouse  ye  from  your  sleep  ! 
The  New  Year  dawns  !   and  up  the  eastern  sky 

The  infant  prodigy  begins  to  creep  ! 
K'en  now  from  over  all  the  groaning  lands 

A  thousand  voices  call,  '  What  cheer?'  '  What  cheer?' 
And  we  reply, — Hope,  smiling  blandly,  stands, 

And  wears  the  features  of  the  glad  New  Year  ! 
Sweet  Plenty, — daughter  of  the  fruitful  sun, — 

Sits  kindly  at  your  boards  ;   and  heavenly  Peace, 
With  all  her  glowing  train,  has  just  begun 

To  break  your  fetters,  giving  swift  release. 
Let  all  the  dead  Past  bury  all  its  dead  ! 

Look  not  behind  !   onward  and  upward  press  ! 
Let  the  grand  Future  stand  for  you  in  stead 

Of  vanished  hopes  and  faded  loveliness  ! 
Put  your  o\vii  shoulders  to  the  jaded  wheel 

Of  the  great  Car  that  moves  the  nations  on, 
And  so,  with  iron  arms  and  hearts  of  steel, 

The  highest  heaven  of  glory  shall  be  won  ;  — 
Forgetting  not  allegiance  true  to  give 

To  the  Great  Monarch  of  the  earth  and  sky, 
And  to  the  Commomvealth  in  wrhich  you  live, 

And  to  the  Starry  Flag  that  gleams  on  high  !'' 

53 


FROM    THE    PIAZZA 

MT.    WASHINGTON    FROM    TIIK    MT.    PLEASANT    HOUSE 

his  breast  the  autumn  sunbeams  fall, 
While  up  his  shaggy  side  the  shadows  creep 
From  foot  to  crown,  —  a  flock  of  mountain  sheep 
Slow  climbing  homeward  at  the  shepherd's  call, 
Scaling  with  certain  foot  the  jagged  wall, 
O'erleaping  gulfs  and  canons  wildly  deep 
Within  whose  cells  the  storm-winged  Furies  sleep, — 
Until  they  gather  at  their  starlit  stall. 
And  up  the  iron  trail  the  genii  go, 

With  sturdy  shoulders  pushing  venturous  trains, 
While  the  grim  mountain  shakes  his  sides  with 

glee 
To  see  his  faithful  vassals  toiling  so. 

At  last  the  clouds  engulf  them,  and  it  rains  : 
So  great  ships  vanish  in  a  thunderous  sea. 


54 


THE    BOATMAN 

E  autumn  day,  when  all  the  sweet-voiced  woods 
Were  laughing  merrily  in  their  solitudes, 
And  when  the  arms  of  Mother  Earth  were  full 
Of  fruits  delicious,  odorous,  beautiful, 
There  floated  down  the  river  of  my  rhyme 
A  drowsy  listener  to  the  far-off  chime 
Of  sweetest  bells,  that  from  the  hazy  shore 
The  throbbing  ether  to  the  Boatman  bore. 

And  while  his  soul  on  restless  wings  was  gone, 

The  silent-sandalled  waters  drifted  on, — 

Past  stately  shores,  high  crowned  with  statelier  towers, 

Where  dallying  day  prolonged  the  festal  hours, — 

Past  verdurous  slopes,  whose  soft  and  tempting  breast 

Sore  lured  the  wanderer  to  longed-for  rest, — 

Until,  like  sapphires  in  a  maiden's  dream, 

A  thousand  stars  lay  flashing  in  the  stream. 

And  over  all, — the  slopes,  the  towers,  the  hill, 
The  murmuring  water  and  the  Boatman  still, — 
The  stealthy  moon  her  filmy  network  flung  ; 
But  Darkness,  terrified,  aside  had  sprung, 
And,  mounting  hastily  the  tethered  breeze, 
Fled  to  his  hiding-place  among  the  trees, 


57 


THE  BOATMAN 

His  hoof-beats  pattering  on  the  yellow  leaves 
L,ike  summer  rain-drops  from  the  summer  eaves. 

Yet  still  the  Boatman  floated  down  the  shores  ; 
His  nerveless  hands  still  grasped  the  nerveless  oars, 
For  o'er  the  waves  came  such  melodious  swells, 
That  all  the  air  seemed  resonant  of  bells  ;  — 
As  on  the  morning  when  the  earth  was  young 
A  universe  of  worlds  their  paean  rung  ; 
Or  in  some  dim,  sequestered  wood,  the  birds 
Fill  all  the  sounding  aisles  with  liquid  words. 

The  Boatman  leaned  bewildered  on  his  hand, 
For  round  him  floated,  beautiful  and  grand, 
Faces  and  forms  he  had  not  seen  before, 
Steering  his  shallop  to  the  shelving  shore, — 
While  the  mild  moon  a  shadowy  Temple  threw 
Beneath  the  answering  \vaters,  till  there  grew 
Upon  his  vision  scenes  of  fairy-land, 
As  lightly  shifting  as  the  shifting  sand. 

They  reached  the  shore — the  Boatman  and  his  crew 
They  led  him  up  the  path  all  gemmed  with  dew 
Which  Nature — kindly  priestess — had  been  wont 
To  scatter  from  her  benedictive  font,— 
Until  they  gained  the  utmost  terrace,  when 
Such  floods  of  glory  burst  upon  his  ken, 
That  speechless,  motionless,  entranced  he  stood, 
A  willing  victim  for  the  kindling  wood. 

58 


THE  BOATMAN 

Yet  flowed  the  river  on — but  not  for  him  ; 
The  shallop  beckoned  from  the  water's  brim  ; 
The  waves,  that  erst  breathed  music  in  his  ear, 
Now  called  in  vain — the  Boatman  could  not  hear  ;  — 
Nor  eye  nor  ear  had  he  for  sight  or  sound 
Save  for  the  fane  on  that  enchanted  ground, 
Whose  vast  entablature  rode,  high  and  bold, 
Nine  caryatids  of  the  purest  mould. 

So  Atlas,  grimly  bending  'neath  his  load, 
Through  fields  foundationless  his  pathway  strode, 
While  round  and  round  him  sun  and  moon  and  stars 
Drave  their  fierce  coursers  and  their  fiery  cars, 
Glad  homage  paying  to  the  stern  intent 
Of  that  unyielding  back,  yet  sorely  bent, 
Which,  all  uncheered  by  hope  of  victor's  crown, 
Had  never  paused  to  lay  its  burden  down. 

And  over  all  the  Temple's  massive  walls, 
Its  mullioned  windows  lighting  twilight  halls, 
Its  grand  entablature,  and  spires,  and  dome, 
An  evergreen  of  rarest  beauty  clomb  ; 
And  peering  out  beneath  its  sheltering  green, 
Like  Love  'neath  lashes  of  some  rustic  queen, 
The  Boatman  saw  the  faces  of  his  dream 
While  floating  idly  on  the  errant  stream. 

At  last  they  bound  him  to  the  crackling  pile  ; 
The  glad  wild  bell  pealed  joyously  the  while  ; 


59 


THE   HO  ATM  AN 

The  bla/ing  fagots  waved  their  lambent  flame  ; 
He  heard  sweet  voices  calling  him  by  name  ; 
The  curling  smoke  with  smothering  kisses  crept 
Close  to  his  lips  and  brow— the  Boatman  slept  ;  — 
But  when  the  sunlight  on  that  Temple  shone, 
It  sent  back  greeting  from  an  added  stone. 


60 


THE    OLD    MAN'S    "YESTERDAY." 

'T  yesterday?     Yes,  'twas  yesterday 
It  must  have  been  yesterday  morn  : 
I  sat  on  a  rock  by  the  River  Ray, 

Where  the  squadrons  of  martial  corn 
Their  silken  banners  had  just  unfurled 
To  the  breeze,  by  the  singing  stream, 
When  a  vision  of  beauty,  all  golden-curled, 
Grew  into  my  waking  dream. 

"  I  know  it  \vas  yesterday,  for  now 

The  rustle  I  seem  to  hear, 
As  the  tall  corn  parted  right  and  left, 

And  a  voice  rang  soft  and  clear, — 
'  Wait,  Willie,  wait !   I  am  almost  there  ! 

I  said  I  would  grant  your  wish , 
So  I  've  made  a  line  of  my  golden  hair, 

And  am  coming  to  help  you  fish  ! ' 

"  Yes  !  (why  do  I  doubt  ?)  it  was  yesterday — 

For  I  see  the  soft  tassels  there 
Sunning  themselves  in  a  worshipful  way 

In  the  light  of  her  shining  hair, 
While  her  voice  rings  merrily  over  the  corn, — 

'  Oh,  Willie  !   come  help  me  through, 

63 


THE   OLD   MAWS   "YESTERDAY" 

For  I  am  "  the  maiden  all  forlorn," 
And  my  feet  are  wet  with  dew  ! 

"  'And  you  know  I  'in  coming  to  help  you  fish  : 

But  you  '11  think  me  a  silly  girl, 
For  I  haven't  a  bit  of  bait — but  wait ! 

I  '11  bait  with  a  tiny  curl  ! 
And,  Willie,  say,  do  you  think  they  '11  bite  ? 

And  then  what  shall  I  do  ? 
Must  I  pull  and  pull  with  all  my  might  ? 

But  I  '11  wait,  and  look  at  you  !' 

"Ah,  me  !   ah,  me  !   was  it  yesterday  ? 

It  seems  but  a  day  ago  ! 
Yet  three-score  years  of  yesterdays 

Have  covered  my  head  with  snow 
Since  we  sat,  where  the  summer  still  comes  and  goes, 

I  and  my  sweetheart  May, 
On  the  rock  where  the  ripples  kissed  our  toes, 

And  fished  in  the  River  Rav." 


64 


OH  !    'T  WAS    THE    FUNNIEST   THING 

BUT    I  'LL   TKLIv    YOU    AI,L    ABOUT    IT 


had  a  d'licious  birthday!     I  was  just  'xactly 
eight  : 

So  mamma  told  my  grandpapa,  who  came  in  awful  late, 
Soon  after  all  the  dollies  and  their  mothers  'd  gone  away, 
And  I  and  Ann  Maria  were  so  tired  we  couldn't  play, 
Although  I'm  sure  he  wanted  to  --  but  grandpapa  is 

nice  : 

He  said  he  'd  'xcuse  us  this  time,  but  he  couldn't  do  it 
twice  ! 

"And   wasn't   it    the    sweetest   thing?  —  dear   mamma 

'ranged  it  all  !  — 
To  have  my  birthday  come  in  May,  when  apple-blossoms 

fall 

Like  great  warm  rosy  snow-flakes  all  over  the  soft  grass, 
And  the  dandelions  have  to  blow  and  struggle  through 

the  mass 

To  get  their  heads  above  the  snow,  p'cisely  as  the  boys 
Do  in  the  winter-time,  but  not  with  such  a  mis'ble  noise  ! 

"  vSo  after  dolly  'd  said  her  prayers  —  I  b'lieve  I  'd  said 

mine  too  — 
And  mamma  'd  kissed  me  —  just  how  many  times  I  never 

knew  — 

65 


OH  I    'T  \\\IS    THE  FUNKIEST   THING 

And  said  '  Good-night,  with  pleasant  dreams,'  and  tucked 

us  both  in  tight, 
(You  wouldn't  b'lieve  it !   but  I  tumbled  out  of  bed  one 

night 
And  bumped  my  nose! — 'e-'e-'e-'e  ! )    I  never  knew  a 

thing 
Until,  along  towards  morning,  I  heard  a  ting-a-ling-ling. 

"  Well,  p'r'aps  I  wasn't  wide  awake  ! — but  I  just  gave 

a  leap 

Right  out  of  bed,  and  left  poor  Ann  Maria  fast  asleep, 
And  hurried  to  the  window  where  it  opens  on  the  lawn — 
And  what  d'  you  think  I  saw  out  there,  all  in  the  early 

dawn  ? 

Why,  forty  hundred  dew-bells  rung  by  forty  hundred  elves ! 
Nobody  heard  those  elfin  chimes  but  just  me— and  them 
selves  ! 

"  I  heard  them  ring  as  plain  as  day  ; — and  down  among 
the  trees 

I  saw  the  funniest  goings-on  ! — Some  great  fat  Bumble 
bees, 

And  Humming-birds,  and  Butterflies,  and  lots  of  other 
things — 

Each  one  before  a  dew-drop  mirror  prinked,  and  stretched 
her  wings, 

And  combed  her  hair — then  washed  her  face  and  bathed 
her  pretty  toes 

In  the  little  pools  that  nestled  in  some  sleepy  Jacquemi 
nots. 

66 


OH  I    *T  M'AS    THE   FCNN1EST   THING 

"And  then  to  end  their  frolic,  all  their  toilets  being 
done, 

They  found  a  'normous  dew-drop,  just  as  golden  as  the 
sun, 

Almost  as  fat  and  jolly,  which  they  whirled  and  danced 
around — 

The  skirt  dance  ! — I  know  how  myself ! — with  not  a  sin 
gle  sound 

Except  the  cut-glass  elfin  bells,  and  the  laughter  of  the 
bees 

As  they  kicked,  and  bowed,  and  swayed,  and  twisted, 
underneath  the  trees. 

"  I  couldn't  stand  it  'nother  minute — rushed  headlong 
down  the  stair, 

Barefooted,  in  my  'nighty,1  dragging  dolly  by  the  hair. 

My  own  hair  flying  wildly,  and  we  joined  the  merry-go- 
round 

Till  the  dew-drop  grew  so  dizzy  she  rolled  over  on  the 
ground  : 

'Twas  then  the  Butterfly  trod  upon  old  Bumble's  sorest 
toe, 

And  the  touchy  thing  just  threatened  'sassination  to  her 
-foe! 

"  She  ahcavs  carried — so  she  said — a  dagger  or  two  for  use 

In  just  site/!  cases,  and  '  ficould  girc  her  pleasure  to  intr'1- 

duce 

But  the  speech  was  never  finished,  for  the  Butterfly  flew 

away, 

67 


OH  I    V  WAS    THE  FUNNIEST   THING 

And  the  Bumblebee  sent  for  a  doctor,  and  the  rest  of  us 

iconld ;/'/  stay, 
And  —  what    seems    most    inexp-p'cable  —  my    mamma 

'  Good-morning  '  said, 
And  I  looked  around,  and  there  we  were,  both  snug  in 

our  little  bed  ! ' ' 


— "  your  doom 
Is  whispered  down  the  grim  and  silent  halls." 


THE    PRINCES    IN   THE   TOWER 

wander  hand  in  hand  from  room  to  room — 
On  every  side  barred  windows  and  dead  walls  ; 
Dark  shadows  lurk  in  corners,  and  your  doom 
Is  whispered  down  the  grim  and  silent  halls. 
Go  to  your  couch,  my  Princes  !      Let  the  sleep 

Of  sweet  forgetfulness  sit  on  your  eyes 
And  dull  your  ears  :   so  may  your  dreams  be  deep 
The  while  you  pass  unconscious  to  the  skies. 

But  that  was  O  so  long  ago  ! 

The  princes  of  to-day 
Are  free  as  birds  to  come  and  go 

From  morn  till  evening  gray. 
They  are  not  smothered,  drowned,  or  burned — 

Their  feet  are  fleet  as  wings  : 
Before  we  know  it,  they  are  turned 

From  princes  into  kings. 


7< 


O   GEMINI 

PRECIOUS  pair  of  rascals,  truly  ! 
Up  to  all  sorts  of  pranks  unruly  ! 
Fun  and  frolic  in  every  motion  ! 
As  many  moods  as  the  changeful  ocean- 
Sunshine  and  tempest  any  day  ! 
What  has  become  of  the  household  quiet  ? 
Gone  ! — and  ducats  couldn't  buy  it ! 

Where  did  you  come  from,  any  way? 

Does  L,eda  know  you  have  gone  a- Maying — 
Gone,  from  the  fields  of  gold  a-straying  ? 
Did  the  watchful  hosts  of  heaven  say  things 
When  you  threw  away  your  starry  playthings  ? 

How  they  must  miss  you  ilka  day  ! 
And  such  a  long,  dark  journey — sleepy, 
And  all  alone,  and  hungry,  .weepy  !— 

You  must  have  come  by  the  Milky  Way. 

The  world  is  brighter  since  you  love  us  ; 
But  the  fields  of  gold  are  dark  above  us, 
For  now,  at  night,  when  you  are  calling, 
The  glist'ning  stars,  like  tears,  are  falling — 


Discarded 


Falling  for  their  lost  Gemini : 
But  though  the  weeping  heavens  miss  you, 
And  Leda  longs  to  hug  and  kiss  you, 

We  cannot  spare  you — Clem  and  I. 


73 


THE   ROAD   AND   THE    RIVER 

was  an  eerie  Road,  but  beautiful — in  places  : 
It  wound  along  the  foot  of  wooded  hills, 
Now  underneath  great  beetling  cliffs  with  sullen  faces, 

Then  down  the  softest  valleys  where  the  trills 
Of    sylvan    songsters    filled    the    laughing,    flower-clad 

meadows 

With  music  till  the  hour  of  evening  prayer ; 
Then    picked    its    way    through    undiscovered,    starlit 

shadows, 
To  places  slumberful,  and  strange  to  care. 

The  Road  was  wide  and  long — it  had  no  known  begin 
ning  ; 

The  end  no  mortal  eye  wrould  ever  see  ;  — 
Forms  tantalizing,  beautiful,  well  worth  the  winning, 

Seemed  ever  beck'iiing  to  some  Good  to  be. 
And  so  the  Road  wound  in  and  out — across  morasses 

That  shook  beneath  the  tramp  of  host  on  host, 
While  up  and  down  and  through  the  darkened  mountain 
passes 

The  tireless  way  led  on  from  post  to  post. 

Beside  this  antique  Road,  unseen,  unheard,  a  River 
Forever  hugged  the  shore  ; — its  stealthy  tread — 

74 


THE  ROAD   AND    THE  RIVER 

So  soft  and  velvety  it  was — ne'er  caused  a  shiver 
Among  the  heedless  throng,  nor  thought  of  dread. 

They  could  not  hear  the  dip  of  oars,  nor  yet  the  singing 
The  fragrant  air  across  the  River  bore  ; 

The}'  could  not  hear  the  eager  swish  of  angels  winging 
Their  joyful  errands  on  the  sunlit  shore. 

The  River  was  not  always  deep,  for  sparkling  shallows 

Made  music,  sometimes,  for  the  children's  ears  ; 
Sometimes  a  glimpse  across  to  where  the  sweet  marsh- 
mallows 

Were  growing,  filled  their  wistful  eyes  with  tears  ; 
And  once  a  little  one,  the  darling  of  her  mother, 

Her  bare  toes  gleaming  on  the  shining  sand, 
And,    closely  guarding  her,  her  watchful,    brown-eyed 
brother, 

Went  wading  through  the  ripples  hand  in  hand — 

And  they  were  seen  no  more,  their  sunny  faces  hidden 

By  floods  of  mist,  perchance  by  floods  of  tears. 
But  no  one  left  that  dusty,  crowded  Road  unbidden  : 

I  watched  them  closely  through  the  maze  of  years, 
And  always — somehow7,  somewhere,  sometime — still,  un 
sleeping — 

The  voiceless  boatman  of  the  silent  sea 
Was  waiting  at  the  brink,  unmindful  of  the  weeping, 

To  row  the  traveller  to  the  far  countree. 


75 


A    PORTRAIT   FROM    THK    SKA4 

§TRANGK  Slavic  face  ! — I  mind  the  morning  well 
When  first  I  met  you  on  that  pebbly  shore  ! 
Old  Ocean  steadfastly  refused  to  tell 
How  he  had  polished  you  with  every  swell 
For  ages  ;   how  he  rolled  you  o'er  and  o'er 
The  threshold  of  the  beach's  open  door, 
A  clear-cut  portrait  (artist,  Wind-and- Wave) , 
A  foundling  rescued  from  a  watery  grave. 
I  wonder  if  St.  Vladimir  the  Great 
E'er  used  your  droshky  in  his  rides  of  state  ! 
Or  did  the  face  you  counterfeit  so  well 

k  last  on  earth  from  some  foul  prison  cell  ? 
Not  tell  the  secret  of  your  age  or  birth  ! 
Why,  fur-capped  Russian  !   what 's  your  secret  worth  ? 


ON   THE    ROCKS    AT    YORK 

old  Ocean  ! — so  I  find  you  here, 
Just  as  I  left  you  years  and  years  ago, 
Unruffled,  beautiful,  a  world  of  blue,— 

To-morrow,  doubtless,  to  be  decked  with  snow 
In  dancing  drifts  upon  an  azure  field, 

While  o'er  your  face  the  warm  south  breezes  blow. 

A  calm,  inviting,  gently  rippling  sea, 
Your  clear-cut  facets  flashing  in  the  sun, 

Purring  in  soft  content,  in  sleepy  ease, 
After  the  frolics  of  the  day  are  done, 

Whispering  wild  legends  to  the  bearded  rocks 
Ere  yet  the  moon  her  journey  has  begun. 

Oft  have  I  seen  you  kiss  their  rugged  lips, 

Pledge  them  eternal  fealty  and  trust, 
Lull  them  to  confidence  with  siren  song, 

And  then,  upon  the  first  great  windy  gust, 
Fly  at  their  faces,  shrieking  loud  and  long, 

Doing  your  best  to  grind  them  into  dust. 

"  Thus  far  " — "  110  farther  "  (?) — See  the  rocky  shore 

Slowly  recede  before  the  blows  that  fall 
From  that  old  giant  Tide-and-Wind-and-Wave  ! 


79 


ON   THE  ROCKS   AT    YORK 

On  all  tempestuous  nights  I  hear  him  call, — 

And  night-fiends  come,  with  battle-axe  and  ram, 

And  thunder  at  the  gray  and  crumbling  wall. 

And  so,  old  Sea,  you  eat  the  shore  away  : 
The  yeons  pass — the  mountains  fill  the  sea, 

Gnawed  into  fragments  by  the  tooth  of  Time  : 
Some  day,  some  day — it  matters  not  to  me — 

The  continent  will  vanish,  as  this  rhyme, 

And  sea  and  sunset  clasp  their  hands  in  glee. 


80 


SILVER   WEDDING   BELLS 


fifty  years  of   Europe  than   a  cycle  of 
Cathay," 
Sang  a  poet  of  our   Fatherland,   three  thousand  miles 

away  ,  — 

On  a  little  sea-girt  island,  just  the  bigness  of  your  hand, 
Which  the  waves  will  wash  away,  some  day,  like  piles 
of  silver  sand. 

But  by  "Europe"  he  meant  England,  as  his  rhythmic 

numbers  rolled  : 
All  the  world  beyond  the  Channel  had  been  left  out  in 

the  cold. 

Pit)-  overspread  his  features,  with  contempt  not  far  away, 
As  he  thought  of  England's  glory  —  and  the  wretches  of 

Cathay  ! 

"  How  they  envy  us  our  good  things  !   How  they  long  to 

come  in  flocks 
To  this  island,"  thought  the  poet,  "where  we  live  like 

fighting  cocks  ! 

o  o 

Where  the  blessed  sun  .shines   every  day  —  beyond  the 

clouds  and  fogs  ! 
And  where  no  blarsted  Frenchman  lives  to  gobble  up 

our  frogs  !  '  ' 

81 


SILVER    IV ED  DING    HELLS 

With  sentiments  akin  to  these,  the  happy  pair  to-night 
Look  down  upon  the  common  world,  from  off  the  dizzy 

height 
Toward  which,  for  just  one  hundred  years — less  seventy 

and  five  ! 
They  've  bravely  climbed,  through  sun  and  storm,  and 

wonder  they  're  alive  ! 

"  '  Survival  of  the  fittest !' — look  at  us  and  see  how  true  ! 
Those  who  reach  this  sun-crowned  pinnacle  are  really 

very  few  ! 
And  then,   to  think  what  we  have   done  ! — look  round 

upon  our  sons  ! 
Four  stalwart  boys,  as  brave  as  ever  fired  their  country's 

guns  ! 

"  How  many  have  done  better?     Count  your  jewels  o'er 

and  o'er, 
And    if,    perchance,    in    counting   them   you    make    the 

number  more, 
Thank   Him   who   made   your  cup   of   life's   rich  juices 

overflow 
In    sweeter    draughts    of    happiness    than    angels    ever 

know  ! 

"  With   deep   and   true   thanksgiving,    and    with   placid 

souls  to-night, 

We  gaze  upon  the  faded  years,  so  rapid  in  their  flight, 
With  a  sort  of  mellow  pity  for  the  men  and  maidens  fair 
Who  here  have  shut  out  heaven,  while  not  certain  of  it 

there  ! ' ' 

82 


SfLl'KR    WEDDING   BELLS 

vSuch  are  the  pleasing  fancies  that  go  coursing  through 

the  brains 
Of  host  and  hostess,  like  the  steeds  of  Arabs  o'er  the 

plains  : 
We  will  not  grudge  them  one  bright  thought,  for  ne'er 

for  them  on  earth 
Will  such  a  morning  dawn  again,  or  such  a  day  have 

birth. 


I  remember  well  the  morning,  although  'twas  long  ago  ! 
Jack  Frost  had  limned  the  window-panes — outside,  the 

creaking  snow  : 

The  lazy  sun  lay  shivering  in  bed  behind  the  hills  : 
He  had  no  wife  to  keep  him  warm — the  worst  of  human  ills  ! 

He  drew  the  blankets  tightly  round  his  head  and  lusty 
form, 

For  't  was  a  morning  when  a  bed  of  coals  could  not 
keep  warm  : 

The  breakfast  bell  he  scouted,  his  hair  was  all  un 
kempt, 

And  for  weddings  he  professed  to  feel  the  most  sublime 
contempt. 

Such  was  the  situation  ; — in  a  room  not  far  away — 
I  see  it  now  as  plainly  as  though  't  were  yesterday — 
Warm  friends  and  kindly  neighbors  had  gathered  one 

by  one 
To  say  "  God-speed,"  and  kiss  the  bride — a  jewel  fairly 

won. 

83 


SII.l'KR    WEDDING    HELLS 

They  stood  before  the  minister,   this  young'  and  lovely 

pair, — 
He   young — she   lovely — both   young  : — I   am   bound  to 

treat  them  fair  ! 
Brave  words  were  softly  said — a  maiden  vanished  like 

the  dew  : 
That  moment  —  —  disappeared  from  mortal  view. 


Ends  the   story.      They   are   with   us  ; — five-and-twenty 

years  ago 
They  began  their  pleasant  journey,  when  the  world  was 

dressed  in  snow, 
Robed  expressly  for  the  wedding,  robed  in  white  again 

to-night, 
While  the  moon,  true  love's  assistant,  sheds  o'er  all  her 

tender  light. 

Blessings  on  them — blessings  ever  !   May  their  last  years 

be  their  best  ! 
May  they  gaze  with  tranquil  rapture  toward  the  gateway 

of  the  west, 
Where   all  things   bright    and    beautiful — the    sun,    the 

moon,  the  stars — 
In  long  processions  disappear  behind  the  golden  bars. 

84 


THE    NORTH    WIND'S    WINTER   OUTING 

(OL,D  Buccaneer  !   from  your  starry  tent, 
Where  the  frost  king  cannot  bind  you, 
You  scurry  away,  on  mischief  bent, 

With  your  crew  of  howls  behind  you  : 
Ride  fast  and  far,  till  your  horses'  neigh 

And  the  clang  of  your  spurs  and  lances 
Are  heard  from  the  close  to  the  break  of  day 
In  the  children's  dreamland  fancies. 
Blow-w-w  !     Blow-w-w  ! 

Drive  headlong  down  great  Baffin  bay, 

Plough  deep  the  cringing  water, 
Till  the  thousand  storm-born  Furies  play 

At  the  game  of  wreck  and  slaughter  : 
Fly  thundering  down  the  slopes  of  snow 

On  your  plunging  ice  toboggan, 
Your  war-cry  heard  by  friend  and  foe  — 

The  North  Wind's  might}'  slogan  ! 
Blow-w-wr !     Blo\v-w-\v  ! 

Shriek  madly — howl  to  your  heart's  content, 

Demoniac  wind  of  the  winter  ! 
Blow7  high  !   blow  low  !   till  your  strength  is  spent- 

The  strength  of  an  Arctic  sprinter  ! 

87 


THE  NORTH    WIND'S    IV  INTER    OUTING 


Go  trumpeting  through  the  mountain  woods 

Like  a  giant  Son  of  Thunder, 
And  waken  the  torpid  solitudes 

As  the  hemlocks  split  asunder. 
Blow-\v-w  !     Blow-w-w  ! 


Seize  hold  of  the  elm  trees'  shivering  limbs, 

And  give  the  old  root"  a  lashing 
To  the  tune  of  your  ringing  battle  hymns 

And  the  toppling  tiles  down-crashing  : 
Push  recklessly  through  that  clapboard  rent 

Where  the  out-  with  the  inside  mingles, 
And,  to  give  our  spirits  a  freer  vent, 

Take  a  twist  at  the  mossy  shingles. 
Blow-w-w  !     Blow-w-w  ! 


You  have  wrecked  fair  ships  and  have  played 
with  Death, 

Fierce  foe  of  the  icebound  seaman  ! 
Have  shaken  our  cot  with  your  gusty  breath — 

The  breath  of  a  storm-brewed  demon  ! 


88 


THE  NORTH    WIND'S    WINTER    OUTING 

But  come  to  the  door  by  the  frosty  path 
And  list  to  the  children's  prattle, 

The  crackling  logs  on  the  blazing  hearth, 
And  the  teakettle's  tittle-tattle. 
Blow-w-w  !     Blow-w-w  ! 

The  children  play  where  the  firelight  falls — 

Outside,  the  snow  is  flying  ! 
The  shadows  dance  on  the  laughing  walls — 

Who  cares  for  the  North  Wind's  sighing  ! 
Go  back,  wild  tramp,  bewildered,  dumb, 

To  your  home  where  the  mercury  freezes  ; 
But  come  again  when  the  blue-birds  come, 

In  the  softest  of  vernal  breezes. 
Blow-w-w  !     Blow-w-w  ! 


YE  BALADE  OF  YE  FRETFULL   LYTEL    ROBIN 

£  BLASING  sumer  afternone  :  — 
No  breth  of  aire  was  steringe  ; 
Yc  frogges  blynked  'neath  yv  lilie-paddes  ; 
No  partriches  were  whurring. 

Ye  grases  wulde  nott  bend  their  heds, 

Nor  whysper  to  eche  other  ; 
Y'1  lambs,  in  lamb's-wooll  sumer  suites, 

Were  sure  that  they  sholde  smother. 

Y1'  kow  stood  kne-deepe  in  y°  pool 

Where  temptinge  schade  hadde  broghte  hir  : 

Hir  nerveless  taille  hung  limpe  and  stille 
Above  yv  steaminge  water. 

Ye  bumblenbees,  on  languid  winges, 
Went  horn,  and  ceased  their  humming, 

And  in  their  easy-chaires  they  dremecl 
Of  cool  vSeptembre's  coming. 

Y1'  molten  suiine  runne  dowiie  ye  west, 

Impacient  for  y1'  shelter 
Beyond  y°  cool  grene  mountain-toppes — 

Ye  dave  was  suche  a  melter  ! 


90 


YE   BALADE   OF   YE   FRETFULL    LYTEL   ROBIN 

A  panting  lytel  Robin,  perched 

Amonge  >'c  rede-cheked  cheries, 
So  overcome  hee  cotide  nott  pyke 

Y1  tantalising  beries, — 

Schokk'1  his  mamma  with  dreadfull  wordes  : 

"  If  thys  *  y°  kinde  of  wether 
You  ve  hatched  mee  to,  I  wisch — I  wisch — 

I  (1<k'  nott  a  single  f ether 

"  Upon  my  bak — so  there  !" — Atte  thys 

Yc  precious  lytel  mother 
Just  gasped — and  sobbed  ; — shee  coude  nott  chicle 

Thys  childe — shee  hadde  no  other. 

But  whenne  ye  father  homeward  came 

Acres  y''  feeldes  of  clover, 
And  herde  y1'  sad,  sad  storie,  thenne 

Hee  sente  a  lettre  over 

To  Robin-toun  for  twenty  byrdes 

To  sitte  in  consultation 
Upon  thys  case  of  mutinie 

Within  y°  Robin  nation. 

They  sate  within  ye  cherie-tree — 

Eche  Robin  took  a  cherie — 
Whiles  on  a  distant  lim  y1'  childe 

Of  sinne  sate  solemne — very. 


9' 


'>•'•    HALADl-:    OF    Y'-~    FRFTFULI.    LYTEL    ROIUX 

Y'1  final  ve relit  was,  that  eche 

And  everie  single  f ether 
vSholde  bee  pulled  off  y1'  Robin's  bak, 

Regardless  of  \v  wether, — 

And  that  hee  thenne  bee  turned  aloofe 

To  rome  y1'  wycle  worlde  over, 
A  hatteless,  coteless,  hornless  byrde. 

Without  a  frend  or  lover. 

Atte  once  they  fell  upon  y''  childe — 

Thys  sterne,  relentless  jurie — 
And  wulde  have  torn  eche  fether  out 

In  their  ungoverned  furie,— 

Hackle  nott  y''  farmer's  trustie  gunne 

Just  thenne  begunne  its  cracking  : 
In  fiftene  minutes  twenty  byrdes 

In  Robin-land  were  lacking. 

Nexte  daye  y1'  morn  was  cool  and  bright  : 

Y1'  farmer  hackle  for  dinner 
A  most  delicious  Robin-pye  : 

A  sweete  songe  sang  ye  sinner 

Oute  in  y'1  orcherd  where  y''  breese 

Swung  high  y1'  mocking  beries, 
And  filled  his  clownie  basket  fulle 

Of  n-pe,  rede-brested  cheries. 


HOW    CAN    YOU    EVER   FIND    ME 

is  so  hard,  my  love,  my  more  than  life, 

To  say  Good-bye  ; 
To  leave  the  arms  so  empty,  where  your  wife 

Found  it  so  sweet  to  lie  ; 
No  kisses — oh  !   it  cuts  me  like  a  knife, 

Dear  one,  just  to  lie  down  and  die, 
E'en  though  your  great  heart  guards  my  slumber  deep, 

And  June's  warm  tones,  in  whispers  low, 
Break  lovingly  upon  my  dreamless  sleep, 

And  I  can  hear  you  go, 
And  come  again,  and  go,  and  hear  you  weep, 

You  love  me  so. 

"  And,  dearest,  when  you  come  to  that  far  land 

Where  I  shall  be, 
I  may  not  know  the  place  upon  the  strand 

Of  the  deep  crystal  sea 
Where  your  light  boat  will  touch  ; — I  may  not  stand 

With  outstretched  arms,  where  you  can  see 
The  face  you  long  for  ; — I  may  be  away 

On  some  most  sweet  and  holy  quest : — 
Hoiv  can  yon  ever  find  me,  then  ? — the  way 

Will  seem  so  long,  at  best, 
Till  your  dear  head  may  lie  again,  some  day, 

Upon  my  breast." 

93 


IJOir   CAN    YOU  EVER    FIND    ME 

"  Dear  heart,  it  will  be  easy,  when  I  go, 

To  find  you  there, 
For  all  the  heavenly  throng  will  surely  know 

Your  dazzling,  sunlit  hair, 
So  radiantly  beautiful,  and  so 

Will  make  sweet  haste  to  tell  me  where 
My  hungry  heart  may  find  you — in  what  realm 

Of  beauty.     I  shall  listen  long, 
Beneath  the  shade  of  some  o'erarching  elm, 

For  snatches  of  a  song 
That  will  ni}'  soul  with  rapture  overwhelm 

And  make  me  strong. 

' '  And  I  shall  follow  it — no  song  so  sweet 

Was  ever  heard  ; 
Shall  wildly  listen  for  your  footsteps  fleet, 

Swifter  than  any  bird  ;-— 
And  when  the  violets  beneath  your  feet 

Breathe  in  your  breath,  their  fragrance  .stirred 
By  your  glad  coming  ;   and  the  ruddy  gleams 

Of  parted  lips,  just  touched  with  dew, 
Break  through  the  trees  ;   and  the  warm,  limpid  beams 

Of  loving  eyes  of  blue 
Come  flying  to  my  arms — Good-bye,  wild  dreams  ! 

I  shall  have  you." 


94 


FAIR    ORMOND 

fAIR  Orniond  of  the  sunbright  shore — 
How  sweet  our  memories  be  ! 
The  restful  river  at  her  door  ; 
Behind,  the  white-fringed  sea. 

The  wild  waves  chant  her  sweetest  charms- 
She  turns  her  face  away  ! 

The  warm  breeze  clasps  her  in  his  arms 
And  kisses  her  all  day. 

A  Queen,  no  jewelled  robe  she  lacks  : 

She  reigns  right  royally, 
One  soft  hand  on  the  Halifax, 

The  other  on  the  sea. 

Her  orange  groves  are  wondrous  fair  : 

The  clustered  yellow  globes 
Are  grouped  in  constellations  there — 

Thrown  back  their  royal  robes 

Of  emerald-green,  so  longing  eyes 
May  feast  011  golden  worlds 


97 


rAIR    ORMOXl) 

That  hang  for  aye  in  Southern  skies 
For  orange-blossom  girls. 

The  live-oaks  swing  the  woodland  sprites 

In  loops  of  ashen  gray, 
When  lovers  crowd  the  moonlight  nights. 

And  fairy-land  is  gay. 


Through  massive  golden  sunset  bars 

The  day  departs  in  state, 
While  one  by  one  the  wi/.ard  stars 

Steal  through  the  twilight  gate 

To  ga/e  on  blood}"  fields  of  old, 
Of  Spanish  derring-do, 

98 


FAIR    ORMOND 

Where  Ponce  de  Leon  fought  for  gold 
And  Indian  arrows  flew. 

And  if  we  listen  when  the  doors 

Of  night  are  all  ajar, 
The  rhythmic  dip  of  shadowy  oars 

Will  greet  us  from  afar. 

Where  scintillant  Tomoka  glides, 

With  heaven  above,  below, 
Red  warriors  wrooed  their  wild-rose  brides 

And  still  his  \vaters  flow 


As  calmly,  mutely  to  the  sea 
As  ever  waters  ran',— 

The  loveliest  dream  in  Florida, 
An  Arcadv  for  Pan. 


99 


FAIR    ORMOND 


Fair  Ormond  !   you  are  wondrous  sweet — 
Your  flowers,  your  birds,  your  trees  ;  — 

We  kiss  again  your  dainty  feet  ; 
We  feel  your  cooling-  bree/e. 


ANNIVERSARY    POEM5 

a  far  Eastern  land — the  splendid  Sunrise  Land — 
There  lived  a  king,  three  thousand  years  ago  : 
So  wise  was  he,  so  gentle,  and  so  large  of  heart, 

That  all  the  kings  of  earth  would  come,  and  go, 
And  come  again,  to  question  him,  and  catch  the  pearls 

Of  wisdom  that,  like  gleaming  drops  of  dew, 
Fell  from  his  rich,  ripe  lips.     His  fame  spread  over  all 

The  lands  ;   and  once  a  queen,  with  retinue 
Of  camels  that  bore  spices,  and  much  gold,  and  stones 

Most  precious — the  most  beautiful  and  wise 
Of  women — came  to  prove  him  with  hard  questionings. 

The  half  had  not  been  told  ; — she  veiled  her  eyes  ; 
There  was  no  spirit  left  in  her.     She  sadly  turned — 

This  proud  and  noble  dame — back  to  her  own 
Fair  laud,  with  all  her  train  of  servants,  cattle,  gifts, 

And  stores  of  wisdom  hitherto  unknown, 
A  nobler,  sweeter,  purer,  queenlier  queen 
Than  wise  King  Solomon  had  ever  seen. 

But  once — so  runs  the  tale — the  great  King  Solomon 
Received  command  from  a  far  Greater  King 

To  build  a  palace — a  grand  temple — to  His  Name, 
Whose  richness  and  magnificence  should  ring 


ANNIVERSAR  \ '  J'OKAf 

Adown  the  vibrant  ages — unapproachable 

By  king  or  potentate,  ere  yet  the  tide 
Of  time  should  drift  us  all  upon  the  farther  shore 

And  close  the  record  on  the  hither  side. 

The  great  king  called  his  builders  and  his  architects 

Into  close  counsel,  and  his  plans  were  told  : 
But  there  were  not,  in  all  his  realm,  artificers 

In  wood  and  brass  and  ivory  and  gold 
With  skill  and  subtle  wisdom  equal  to  the  task 

Of  inlaid  work  and  carved  cherubim, 
Gigantic  pillars  of  bright  brass,  a  molten  sea 

With  just  three  hundred  knops  beneath  the  brim, 
And  lions,  massive  oxen,  bra/en  wheels,  and  all 

The  thousand  other  weird  and  wondrous  things 
That  made  this  palace  of  the  Greater  King  divine — 

A  Wonder  of  the  World,  as  history  sings. 

The  great  king's  heart  was  sorely  troubled,  and  he  went 

To  the  high  tower  where  he  was  wont  to  pray, 
And  drew  a  soft  divan  to  the  great  window,  where 

He  could  o'erlook  the  city  ; — 'twas  broad  day— 
But  he  was  weary,  sad,  and  sick  at  heart,  for  he 

Could  see  no  sunshine  brightening  his  way. 
Some    unseen    finger   touched    his    tremulous    eyes — he 
slept. 

A  voice  familiar  fell  upon  his  ear  : 

"O   king!    take  heart  of  grace:    thy    father's    dearest 
friend, 

The  king  of  Tyre,  will  help  thee  :   never  fear  ! 


ANNIVERSARY  POEM 

Awake  !   e'en  now  his  servant  staiicleth  at  thy  door 

With  kindly  messages  for  David's  son." 
The   king    awoke  :    the   dream  was    true — the    problem 
solved  : 

The  dreamer's  face  shone  like  the  rising  sun. 

Meanwhile  (the  king  was  very  near  the  hearts  of  all 

His  loyal  subjects)  a  vague  rumor  spread 
Throughout  the  city  that  his  heart  was  troubled  sore 

Because  he  had  no  artisan  with  head 
Sufficient  for  the  royal  task  ;   and  sympathy 

And  tender  helpfulness  and  kindly  words 
Came  up  from  every  side.      But  one  bright  early  morn 

A  flock  of  brilliant  plumaged,  white- winged  birds 
Came  flying  o'er  the  city  from  the  smiling  west, 

And  all  the  air  was  full  of  sparkling  song, 
Which  seemed  to  say  to  all  those  eager  ears, — "Cheer 
up, 

For  help  is  coming,  and  'twill  not  be  long  ! 
Look  to  the  west!    Cheer  up!" — and  then  they  circled 
round 

And  o'er  the  expectant  city,  till  the  hearts 
Of  all  grew  lighter  than  the  lightest  thistle-down  : 

E'en  merchants  came  from  all  the  crowded  marts 
To  join  the  throng  :    and  as  they  gazed,  came  winding 
down 

The  hills,  with  rapid,  graceful,  easy  swing, 
A  long  procession — horses,  camels,  men — and  at 

Their  head  the  grand  old  man  from  Tyre — the  king  ! 

103 


ANNIVERSARY  POEM 

As  this  great  retinue  approached  the  wide-eyed  throng, 

And  recognition  came  like  lightning  flash — 
"  Hiram  of  Tyre  !"  they  cried — "  The  king  !    Hiram  the 
king  ! 

Hiram  our  benefactor  ! ' '    Crash  on  crash 
The    shouts  rolled   back   in  thunder  peals,   wave   after 
wave, 

Over  the  city,   over  vale  and  hill, 
Dying  away  in  faintest  echoes,  as  dies  the  storm 

At  the  great  Master's  mandate,  "  Peace  !  be  still !" 

So  Solomon  and  Hiram,  friends  and  lovers,  built 

That  wondrous  pile.     Their  fleets  sailed  side  by  side 
To  Ophir,  and  brought  back  great  store  of  ivory, 

And  gold,  and  precious  stones,  and  fabrics  dyed 
In  the  rich  colors  of  those  dim,  barbaric  climes, 

To  decorate  the  temple.     And  the  king 
Of  Tyre  denuded  Lebanon  of  cedars,  firs, 

And  everything  of  worth,  that  he  might  bring 
The  oil  of  gladness  to  its  humble  worshippers. 

And  \vheii  the  task  of  that  seven  years  was  done — 
The  twice  one  hundred  thousand  artisans  at  rest — 

That  regal  dream  stood  flashing  in  the  sun, 
The  grandest  epic  of  the  ages,  and  the  best. 

So  runs  the  strange  old  story  ; — it  is  quaintly  told 
On  dim  and  musty  parchments,  in  the  deep 

And  dark  recesses  of  an  ancient  monastery 

In  the  far  East,  \vhere  strangest  legends  sleep, 

104 


ANNIVERSARY  POEM 

And  only  curious  travellers,  who  dig  and  delve 

For  hidden  gems,  can  rouse  them  from  their  slumbers  : 
Let  them  sleep. 

Alas  for  that  grand  pile!      Where,  where  is  it  to-day? 

No  eye  for  five- and- twenty  hundred  years 
Has  gazed  upon  its  towers  and  peerless  pinnacles  : 

'T  is  buried  in  a  soundless  sea  of  tears. 


Another  temple,  not  so  grand  and  beautiful, 

We  sing  to-day  ;   a  temple  reared  by  hands 
And  hearts  and  brains  as  true  as  ever  .struck  a  blow 

For  love  of  God  and  man  in  Eastern  lands  ; 
A  temple  round  whose  modest  pillars  cling  the  loves 

Of  thousands  who  have  worshipped  at  its  shrine, 
Whose  tender  memories,  quivering  through  the  haze  of 
years, 

Dress  it  in  robes  that  seem  almost  divine  ; 
A  temple  reared  to  Education,  Truth,  and  God, 
Most  of  whose  builders  lie  beneath  the  sod. 

And  yet  this  temple  groweth  still — it  is  not  done  : 

Of  years  three  score  and  ten  and  five,  it  stands 
Baring  its  white,  cool,  youthful  forehead  to  the  sun, 

Gazing  adown  the  centuries,  its  hands 
Outstretched  in  passionate  welcome  to  the  splendid  sons 

And  daughters  of  the  future,  whose  clear  eyes — 
As  full  of  sweetest  laughter  as  your  mountain  brooks — 

Shall  aye  reflect  the  nations'  destinies. 

105 


ANNIVERSAR  Y  POEM 

Here  shall  they  come,   in   troops,   to  taste  the  cooling 
spring, 

And  thirsty  souls  shall  drink,  and  drink  again. 
And,  passing  out  these  academic  doors,  shall  go 

To  lift  to  higher  planes  their  fellow- men. 

Another  Hiram,6  too,  we  sing,  and  every  inch 

A  man,  a  king, — yea,  every  inch  a  king 
No  whit  the  less  than  he  of  fragrant  memory 

Whose  praise  the  Poet  has  essayed  to  sing. 
The  strength  and  wisdom  of  his  ripe  and  golden  years, 

His  forceful  guiding  hand  and  teeming  brain, 
Helped  fashion  here  a  fane  so  grand,  we  could  but  think 

The  king  of  Tyre  had  come  to  earth  again. 

To-day  we  saw  a  long  procession  winding  up 

The  hill,  in  gay  attire,  and  at  its  head 
A  form  and  face  familiar  in  the  years  gone  by  : 

Our  hearts  were  lighter,  baleful  fancies  fled, 
For  in  that  noble  form  we  saw  Hiram  the  king  ! 

And  warm  hearts  greeted  him  with  silent  cheers. 
No  crown  of  gold  sat  heavy  on  his  brow — instead, 

The  rime  of  wisdom  and  of  four-score  years, 
As  light  and  airy  as  the  fleecy  clouds  of  June 

Afloat  in  ether, — and  an  easy  grace, 
Born  of  a  life  well  spent,  spread  o'er  his  countenance  : 

We  thought  he  had  a  wondrous  lovely  face. 
Welcome,  King  Hiram,  to  your  own  ! — a  kingdom  won 
By  the  sheer  force  of  duties  nobly,  grandly  done  ! 

1 06 


ANNIVERSARY  POEM 

And  here,  upon  the  summit  of  this  sun-crowned  height, 

A  beacon  light,  this  modern  temple  stands, 
And  hearts  of  gold  will  turn  to  her  their  eager  feet, 

Drawn  to  her  altars  by  her  high  commands. 
Her  gracious  light  shall  not  be  hid  ; — like  Joseph's  kin, 

The  sun,  the  moon,  and  the  eleven  stars, 
And  all  the  circling  mountains,  feel  their  pulses  thrill 

With  humble  homage,  and  shall  leap  the  bars 
That  stand  between  them  and  old  Thetford  Hill. 

The  Poet,  from  the  vantage-ground  of  his  high  tower 

Upon  the  rocky,  thunderous  coast  of  Maine, 
Looks  out  of  his  wide  window  on  the  turbulent  sea 

And  sees  uncounted  ships,  an  endless  train, 
Go  sailing  by,  and  every  canvas  swelling  with 

The  hope  and  faith  that  high  endeavor  knows. 
How  eagerly  the  white  arms  welcome  every  breeze 

From  softest  kisses  to  the  hardest  blows  ! 
See  how  the  salt  spray  leaps  and  flashes  in  the  sun, 

And  falls  in  cooling  drops  upon  the  prow  ! 
See  how  the  dancing  waters  humbly  step  aside 

To  leave  a  pathway  for  the  gleaming  plow  ! 
And  you  can  hear  the  jocund  voices  of  the  crew 

Come  lilting  o'er  the  waves — I  hear  them  now  ! 
So    each    fair  ship   goes  sailing    on,    and    on,    and 
on, 

Bound  to  some  far-off  port — God  only  knows 
The  where,  or  whether  its  great  anchor  ever  will 

Be  cast  where  never  more  the  wild  wind  blows  ; 

107 


ANN1 VERSAR  Y  POEM 

Or  whether,  as  the  full  ripe  years  go  inarching  by, 
These  brave  craft,  weather-beaten,  canvas-torn, 

Will  proudly  sail  across  the  harbor  bar  of  home 

And  cast  their  anchors  where  their  hopes  were  born. 

Old  Thetford  Hill  has  sent  her  noblest  craft  to  sea  : 
Where    are    they    now  ? — Sometimes    she    cries,    with 

tears, 
"When  will  my  ships — my  splendid  ships — come  back 

to  me  ? 

When  will  my  ships  come  home?"     But  darkest  fears 
Give  place  to  triumph  !     L,ook  !     This  early  morn  a  soft 

Brisk  breeze  across  the  white-capped  waters  blew  ; 
A  fleet  of  bellying  sail  came  flying  down  the  wind, 
On  every  deck  a  bronzed,  stout-hearted  crew  ; — 
And  look  around  you  now  !   These  faces — do  you  know  ? — 
Are  but  the  ships  old  Thetford  launched — her  ships  of 
Long  Ago. 


1 08 


"  Rosy-red  lips  must  not  taste  of  it  nov 


TWO    APPLES 


,EAUTIFUI,  Queen  of  the  shadowy  aisles, 

lighting  their  depths  with  your  innocent  wiles 
Wander  not  far  from  the  whispering  tree  ; 
Adam  lies  under  it  dreaming  of  thee. 
Doubt  is  already  disturbing  his  rest : 
Golden  head  !   go  back  and  lie  on  his  breast. 

Empress  of  Hearts  the  world  over,  beware  ! 
Dangers  beset  thee,  so  young  and  so  fair  ; — 

Touch  not  the  rosy-red  fruit  on  the  bough  ; 

Rosy-red  lips  must  not  taste  of  it  now. 

!!!!!! 
Eve  !   O  sweet  Mother  !   the  world  is  in  tears  : 
Yet  Hope  floats  serene  down  the  river  of  years. 


TWO   APPLES 


TEW, 

That  massive  tree  is  not  more  firm  of  foot 

Than  thou  art,  little  Tell ! 
Thy  father  planted  thee  :  thou  must  stay  put — 

The  why,  thou  knowest  well. 
The  tree  and  thou  art  back  to  back — stand  firm  ! 

The  apple  on  thy  head 
Has  an  uncertain,  doubtful  footing  ; — squirm, 

And  off  it  rolls,  like  lead  ! 
Cling  to  the  tree  !     Steady  !     Keep  open  eyes  ! 

When  all  is  done,  shout  "  Ready  !" 
VVhiz-z-z  ! — How  that  arrow  from  the  stout  bow  flies  ! 

Thud! — What,  done  already? 


"  Cling  to  the  tree  !     Steady  !  " 


THE    GARDENS   OF    NODDY 

in  the  Gardens  of  Nid-nod-Noddy, 
7®   Whither  my  pretty  baby  's  going, 
Nicest  things  and  sweetest  things  for  every  baby  body 

Are  growing — growing growing. 

Little  white  pearls,  like  peas  in  a  poddy, 

Ont  through  the  rosy  gates  are  peeping, 
Down  in  the  Gardens  of  Nid-uod-Noddy, 
Where  my  baby  's  creeping. 

Still  are  the  Gardens  of  Noddy,  and  shady — 

None  can  be  warmer  or  lighter  : 
Mamma  is  the  sunlight  and  starlight,  the  lady 

That  makes  the  gardens  sweeter  and  brighter 
For  every  little  baby  boy  and  every  little  maidy 

That  listens  to  the  song  she  is  humming 
Down  in  the  gardens  where  the  birdies  keep  shad}', — 

"  Nid-nod-Noddy  's  coming  !" 

Daffodils  and  poppies,  hollyhocks  and  clover, 

Down  iii  the  Gardens  of  Noddy, 
Nod  their  pretty  sleepy  heads,  over  and  over, 

To  every  little  sleepy-headed  body 

JI5 


/•///•;  <.;.-! R/IWS  or  NODDY 

That  wanders  through  those  dreamy  aisles  to  find  a  cosy 

cover 

Where  the  Nodheads  in  their  hammocks  are  swing 
ing  ; 

Where  are  buttercups  and  daisies,  golden-rod  and  clover, 
Sleepily — sleepily —  —singing. 

Bees  are  stealing  honey,  and  all  about  us  flying, 
Looking  for  my  pretty  darling,  maybe, 

But  if  in   mamma's  drowsy   lap   they   find   him   snugly 

lying, 
They  '11  dare  not  kiss  my  blue-eyed  little  baby. 

In   the   Noddy   gardens   all   the   sights   and  sounds  are 

dying- 
Mamma's  loving  eyes  have  ceased  their  beaming  ; 

All  the  world  has  drifted  off,  like  summer  clouds  a-flying — 
Babv  's  dreaming — dreaming. 


116 


PARALLELS 

§NVISIBLE  To-morrows  crowd  the  encircling  ether  ! 
The  granary  of  Time  is  full  of  them.     And  when 
The  great  black  iron  midnight  gate  falls  prone  before 

The  mighty  blows  of  the  cathedral  bell,  a  germ 
Shoots  forth  from  its  unseen  retreat — a  burning  star 
From  darkest  background — and  the  bright  To-day  is 

born . 

So  unborn  souls  are  waiting — the  uncounted  millions 
Of  God's  sweet  thoughts,  stored  in  the  vaulted  cham 
bers  of 
Eternity — for  the  great  summons.     One  by  one, 

Like  rain-drops  from  a  balmy  summer  sky,  they  come 
Out  of  the  vast  unseen  into  the  blazing  light : 

Birth  is  their  starting-place,  and  life  their  grand  To 
day. 

To-day  sits  on  the  breezy  summer  hill-tops,  smiling  ; — 
The  pliant  sun  bounds  up  the  cliffs  at  his  command  ; 

He  paints  fantastic  ships  upon  the  bright  blue  sea 

Above  him  ;   bids  the  song-birds  sing,  the  children  play, 

And  all  the  world  be  glad.    But  Night,  remorseless,  comes 
And  snuffs  his  candle  out :   alas  !   To-day  is  done  ! 

117 


PARALLELS 

And  Man,  whose  day  began  so  blithely  in  the  morning 
With  touch  of  mother  lips,  the  robin's  song  among 

The  tree-tops,  and  the  sweet  breath  of  the  western  wind, 
Springs  lightly  to  the  helm  of  his  fair  ship,  and  sails 

Away  into  the  beck'ning  west,  a  phantom  barque. 

Ah  me  !   Night  cometh  all  too  soon  :  his  Day  is  done  ! 

All  the  To-morrows  and  To-days  since  Time  came  flying 
Across  abysmal  space,  sink  in  the  pulseless  sea 

Of  Yesterdays  ; — and  Man — immortal,   God-like  Man — 
Goes  with  them, — but  to  rise  to  a  more  perfect  day 

On  some  bright  shore  where  Death  is  but  a  memory, 
And  Night  is  buried  in  a  living  sea  of  L,ight. 


uS 


A    HUNDRED    YEARS   AGO8 

THOUSAND  hearts  are  swelling 

With  gratitude  to-day, 
For  here,  to  this  His  dwelling, 
Our  Saviour  leads  the  way  : 
We  turn  the  ancient  pages, 

We  scan  the  yellow  leaves, 

Where  Jesus,  through  the  ages, 

Has  written  of  His  sheaves. 

We  've  heard  the  simple  story 

Of  that  courageous  band, 
The  young,  and  heads  all  hoary, 

That  came  to  this  fair  land, 
The  pathless  wilds  before  them, 

The  sleepless  stars  above, 
With  Heaven  bending  o'er  them, 

Its  great  heart  full  of  love. 

The  dews  of  June0  were  glist'ning 

Among  the  tree-tops  there, 
And  softest  breezes  list'ning 

To  sadly  cadenced  prayer, 
When  on  that  Sabbath  morning 

A  fire  began  to  glow, — 


119 


A   HUNDRED    YEARS   AGO 

This  Church's  faint,  sweet  dawning, 
A  hundred  years  ago. 

A  hundred  years  ! — How  glorious 

Their  voices,  and  how  strong, 
As  down  the  years,  victorious, 

The  echoes  roll  along. 
O  Christ !   like  them  undaunted 

When  overwhelmed  with  woe, 
Come  bless  the  Church  they  planted 

A  hundred  vears  aeo. 


Now  flying  wildly  through  the  ghostly   mill  " — 


THE    FARM-HOUSE 

laughing  sunshine  peers  above  the  hill, 
And  down  the  slumbering  vale  ; 
Then  hastens  on  with  nimble  feet,  until, 
A  rood  or  two  beyond  the  silvery  rill 
Now  flying  wildly  through  the  ghostly  mill, 
He  gains  the  cottage  pale. 

The  hospitable  gate  stands  open  wide, 

And,  with  impatient  lips, 
The  morning-glory  beckons  to  her  side 
The  wayward  youth  whose  quest  she  ne'er  denied  ; 
Her  tangled  tresses  quick  he  thrusts  aside, 

And  dewy  nectar  sips. 

He  lingers  lovingly  among  the  flowers 

That  fringe  the  open  door  ; 

Then  steals  within,  and  wakes  with  magic  powers 
The  forms  at  rest  in  Dreamland's  rustic  bowers, 
And  plays  through  morning's  golden-tinted  hours 

Upon  the  oaken  floor. 

Meanwhile  the  swirling,  effervescent  brook 

Halts,  and  with  dainty  poise 

I/eaps  headlong  to  the  sparkling,  darkling  nook, 
Where  coiled  it  lies,  a-dreaming  of  the  spook, — 
The  wheezy  wheel,  that  groaned  and  stretched  and  shook 

With  harsh,  blood-curdling  noise. 

123 


THE   FARM-HOUSE 

The  birds  troll  welcome  to  the  summer  days 

From  air}-  turrets  high  ; 
The  bees  are  humming  over  ancient  lays 
That  erst  were  heard  in  Eden's  shaded  ways 
On  that  bright  morn  when  universal  praise 

Rolled  through  the  arching  sky. 

Bold  chanticleers,  with  summons  loud  and  shrill, 

The  languid  echoes  wake, 

Which  just  before  were  sleeping,  calm  and  still, 
Behind  the  pine-coned,  breezy,  whispering  hill 
That  drinks  the  cup  of  morning  to  its  fill, 

Beyond  the  lazy  lake. 

The  butterflies  have  stretched  their  painted  wings 

Upon  the  breath  of  dawn, 

And  flit  from  flower  to  flower  like  human  things  ; 
The  slaughtered  hay  its  dying  perfume  flings 
Abroad  upon  the  white-winged  gale,  which  brings 

And  strews  it  o'er  the  lawn. 

Beneath  the  moss-grown  roof  a  group  prepare 

To  siege  the  smoking  board, 
Which  fills  with  grateful  incense  all  the  air  ; 
But  first  the  reverend  sire  with  frosty  hair 
Craves  "  daily  bread  "  for  those  assembled  there, 

From  Him  for  aye  adored. 

Quick  follow  then  the  clangings  of  the  steel — 

Above  no  weltering  foe  ; 
No  timid  suppliants  for  mercy  kneel, 


124 


THE  FARM-HOUSE 

No  vizored  foemen  with  dim  vision  reel, 
But  happy  voices  grace  the  morning  meal 
With  love's  sweet  overflow. 

And  then  the  cheerful  group  contrive  to  share 

The  labors  of  the  day  ; 
While  I,  with  angling  gear  and  eager  air, 
Retreat,  like  lion  to  his  forest  lair, 
To  shady  woods  where  winding  streams  repair, 

And  wile  the  hours  awav. 


I25 


WHERE    ROvSKvS    GROW 

§EAR  Land  of  Love  !   Sweet  Land  of  Rest 
We  send  our  loved  one  home  to  thee  : 
Oh  !   let  her  lie  upon  thy  breast, 

Soothed  by  heaven's  matchless  minstrelsy. 

The  gates  of  pearl  were  opened  wide 

To  let  the  wanderer  in, 
Where  peace  and  rest  and  joy  abide 

With  those  who  dwell  therein, — 
And  we  could  fancy  that  we  heard 

The  angels  from  afar 
Shout  Welcome  !    While  a  snow-white  bird 

Flashed  through  the  gates  ajar, 
Adown  the  pathway  of  the  spheres, — 

And  our  too  eager  eyes 
Could  scarcely  see,  through  blinding  tears, 

This  envoy  from  the  skies. 

But  messages  of  love  he  brought : 

And  now  we  surely  know 
Those  calm  blue  eyes  are  fixed  upon 

The  One  who  loved  her  so. 


126 


II 'HERE  ROSES   GROW 

Her  tired  feet,  now  tired  no  more, 
Are  strolling  by  the  river 

On  whose  soft  banks  the  roses  grow 
And  lilies  bloom  forever. 


127 


A   LAST   VISIT 

fHE  dear  old  trees  are  just  the  same  ; 
The  birds — I  know  them  all ; 
The  warm  winds  leap  the  pine-clad  hills 

Responsive  to  my  call, 
And  kiss  me  soft  on  either  cheek 

As  oft  they  did  of  yore  : 
Alas  !  no  eager  footsteps  crowd 
The  old  familiar  door. 

The  rooms  are  empty — not  a  word 

Of  welcome  greets  my  ears  ; 
Their  echoes  are  a  mocker}- — 

My  eyes  are  filled  with  tears. 
I  cannot  make  you  seem  like  home  : 

So  now,  old  house,  farewell ! 
Good-bye,  old  trees,  my  childhood's  friends 

Good-bye  the  dear  old  well ! 


MARGUERITE 


MARGUERITE 

Marguerite  ; — the  thousand  nameless  graces 
Of  all  the  queens  of  beauty 
Since  time  begun — 

The  witcheries  of  all  the  wondrous  faces, 
And  voices  low  and  fluty — 
Moulded  in  one  ! 

Just  see  her  waiting  there,  the  peerless  creature  ! 
The  perfect,  matchless  woman  ! 

And  watch  her  face  ;  — 

Instinct  with  youth  and  love  is  every  feature, 
And  passionately  human 
Is  every  grace. 

Could  we  but  peer  behind  the  filmy  laces 
That  guard  the  sweet  enclosure 

Where  dear  Love  lies, 

A  happy  bird  would  smile  up  in  our  faces — 
No  fear  of  cold  exposure 
Within  his  eyes. 

No  queen  of  hearts  was  ever  half  so  graciotis  : 
The  apple-blossoms  tremble 
With  sheer  delight 


MARGUERITE 

As  they  stoop  down  and  kiss,  with  lips  audacious, 
That  exquisite  ensemble 
In  pink  and  white. 

The  sun's  warm  fingers,  dallying  with  her  tresses, 
Are  hopelessly  entangled 
In  golden  strands  : 

Nor  can  he  ever  set,  howe'er  time  presses, 
Till  they  are  disentangled 
By  loving  hands  : 

Then  when  the  waves  of  glory  round  her  falling 
Within  her  vestal  chamber 
Are  shut  from  sight, 

If  you  but  listen  you  ma}7  hear  him  calling 
From  off  his  bed  of  amber, 

' '  Sweet  lyove  !     Good-night ! ' ' 


132 


THE   LIFE-STREAM 

April  morning,  when  the  spring 
ktX   Released  the  mountain  rill, 
I  heard  the  baffled  winter  wind 
Retreat  along  the  hill. 

The  father-sun  came  bending  o'er, 

And  tenderly  caressed 
The  laughing  prattler,  as  he  drew 

His  mountain-mother's  breast. 
The  rill,  when  tired  of  revelling 

Among  the  fountains  full, 
Ran  sparkling  down  the  velvet  slope 

To  sleep — a  shad}'  pool. 

But  when,  as  morning  dawned  again, 

He  peeped  the  margin  o'er, 
And  saw  the  beck'ning  buttercups 

Fast  marching  on  before, — 
He  could  not  stay  ;  he  turned  and  kissed 

His  sleeping  mother,  then 
Stole  softly  'neath  the  lintel  green 

And  rippled  down  the  glen. 


THE  LIFE-STREAM 

As  childhood,  in  uneasy  dreams, 

Flies  through  the  green  aisles  dim 
Of  some  old  crooning  forest  where 

L,urk  monsters  fierce  and  grim, — 
So  fled  he,  as  the  stealthy  roots 

Of  gnarled  and  wrinkled  trees 
Came  twisting  out  the  loam}-  bank 

His  truant  foot  to  seize. 

In  most  fantastic  windings  lost, 

In  meadows  dewy  sweet, 
To  catch  the  jocund  birds  that  flung 

Their  music  at  his  feet, — 
He  wandered  dreamily  along 

Till  day  began  to  wane, 
And  sighed,  "  Ah,  me  !   I  ne'er  shall  see 

My  mountain  home  again." 

He  hurried  down  a  rocky  steep, 

A  wild  and  reckless  stream, 
And  lay  all  quivering  at  its  foot, 

At  rest — perchance  to  dream 
Of  that  long  way  he  needs  must  wend, 

The  victories  to  be  won, 
The  blessings  waiting  at  the  end 

When  all  his  work  was  done. 

Day  after  day  he  travelled  on, — 
Grew  broad,  and  deep,  and  strong, 


THE  LIFE-STREAM. 

And  turned  the  ponderous  wheels  of  life 

To  rhythmic  flow  of  song. 
And  while  in  all  the  strife  of  years 

He  aimed  to  bear  a  part, 
A  white  swan  lay  upon  his  breast, 

Her  image  in  his  heart. 

One  hazy  autumn  afternoon 

The  traveller  neared  the  goal 
With  hurried  step  and  lab 'ring  breath  ; 

He  heard  the  thunder  roll, 
But  pressed  right  onward  to  the  brink, 

Nor  shunned  the  dread  abyss, — 
His  hopes  all  fixed  on  realms  above, 

One  last  fond  look  on  this. 

Oh  !  transformation  wonderful ! 

Above  that  gulf,  at  even, 
Hovered  a  misty  form  of  grace, 

Robed  in  the  hues  of  heaven  ! 


SPIRIT   OF   LOVE 

§PIRIT  of  Love  !  touch  the  eyes  that  are  weeping  : 
Sweet  is  her  rest  who  is  peacefully  sleeping. 
Comfort  the  sorrowing  :   Hope  never  dies, 
Though  love-light  be  banished  from  love-lighted  eyes  : 
And  sometimes,  in  the  dusk,  from  the  far-brooding  dome, 
Soft  winds  will  whisper  a  message  from  home. 

Lover  and  Helper  !  give  them  sweet  home-rest : 
Pillow  their  heads  on  Thy  great  loving  breast. 

Sorrow  and  Joy  clasp  their  hands  as  they  wander 

Down  to  the  gateway  that  leads  over  yonder  ;— 

Joy  enters  joyfully  :   Grief  turns  away— 

Her  home  is  not  there  where  the  sun  shines  for  aye. 

So  these  tear-troubled  souls,  when  they  come  to  the  door, 

Will  be  transfigured,  and  tears  fall  no  more. 

Lover  and  Helper  !  give  them  sweet  home-rest : 
Pillow  their  heads  on  Thy  great  loving  breast. 

Spirit  of  Love  !   heal  these  hearts  that  are  breaking  ; 
Fill  them  with  Heaven,  whether  sleeping  or  waking — 
Joy  at  the  noontide  and  Peace  in  the  night, 
Sweet  Hope  when  the  morning  floods  life  with  its  light : 
And  when  earth  disappears,  and  the  chamber  grows  dim, 
Take  them  where  Love  fills  the  soul  to  the  brim. 

Lover  and  Helper  !   give  them  sweet  home-rest : 
Pillow  their  heads  on  Thy  great  loving  breast. 

136 


THE    MAGI    AND    THE    STAR 

E  sky  was  overcast,  the  winds  were  chill ; 
<s-^  Strange  lights  chased  shadows  over  vale  and  hill  ; 
And  Melchior,  lone  watcher  of  the  night, 
His  white  beard  gleaming  in  the  fitful  light, 
Sat  silent,  prayerful,  in  his  stone-cold  tower, 
When,  lo,  the  black  clouds  parted  at  the  hour 
Of  midnight — and  ajar 
He  saiv  the  Star ! 

The  sun  went  down  in  beaut}-,  but  the  night 
Grew  dark  with  tempest :   not  a  ray  of  light 
Touched  soothingly  old  Kaspar's  snow-white  hair 
The  while  he  knelt,  and  watched,  and  waited  there 
In  his  cold  cave — with  Faith  and  Hope  his  dower — 
When,  lo,  the  black  clouds  parted  at  the  hour 
Of  midnight — and  ajar 
He  sau'  the  Star  ! 

Beyond  the  tumult  of  the  upper  Nile 
Balthasar  walked,  and  dreamed  of  God,  the  while 
Dark  storm-clouds,  gathering  on  the  mountain  peaks, 
Gave  sudden  speech,  as  when  Jehovah  speaks — 


THE   MAGI  AND    THE   STAR 

The  great  hills  echoing  its  wondrous  power — 
When,  lo,  the  black  clouds  parted  at  the  hour 
Of  m  idn  igli  t—a  n  d  a  fa  r 
He  saw  the  Star  ! 


The  sunset-hour  was  burning  in  the  west : 
Three  dusty  pilgrims,  sadly  needing  rest, 
Rode  down  the  winding  way  to  Bethlehem 
To  find  the  King — the  King  of  kings  to  them 
And,  lo,  the  Star  which  they  had  seen  before 
Stood  flashing:  there  above  His  stable  door ! 


"  Hail  to  the  King  !"  the  happy  Wise  Men  cried 

"  Hail  to  the  King  !"  the  door  flew  open  wide, — 

And  there,  upon  a  bed  of  fragrant  hay, 

The  infant  Jesus  with  sweet  Mary  lay, 

Warm  wrapped  within  the  whitest,  softest  fleece- 

The  King,  the  Wonderful,  the  Prince  of  Peace. 


And  the  angels  sang, — 

"  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  and  on  earth 
Peace,  good  will  to  men." 


138 


ADOWN   THE    FLASHING    STREAM 

A     CHARADE 

§;  GLIDE  adown  the  flashing  stream 
Sereneh'  in  my  First ; 
I  trail  my  lines  for  yellow  bream, 

Of  fish  nor  best  nor  worst ; 
And  when  I  of  Sahara  dream, 
I  quench  my  dreamy  thirst. 

When  every  breezy  summer  dell 

Is  full  of  frozen  dreams, 
I  sometimes  deem  it  passing  well 

To  mass  the  sun's  warm  beams, — 
And  in  a  corner  of  my  cell 

Ah  !  how  my  Second  gleams  ! 

The  axis  of  the  spinning  earth 

Extends  from  pole  to  pole, 
And  has  since  morning  had  its  birth  ; 

Withdraw  it,  and  a  hole 
Of  mighty  length  and  breadth  and  girth 

Will  need  my  strengthening  Whole. 


141 


SONG    OF    THE    SUMMER    WIND 

§-'  'L,Iy  hie  away  from  my  native  shade, 
„•    Over  the  mountain  and  through  the  glade, 
Rustling  the  leaves  with  my  feathery  tread, 
And  breathing  perfume  o'er  the  violets'  bed, — 
Ha,  ha  !   away,  away  ! 

I  '11  ruffle  the  face  of  the  crystal  lake, 
And  laugh  at  the  eddies  my  pinions  make  ; 
I  '11  perch  my  foot  on  the  .swallow's  wing, 
And,  sailing  along,  will  gaily  sing, — 

Ha,  ha  !   away,  away  ! 

I  '11  climb  the  hill  on  its  ladder  of  trees, 
With  a  tip  of  my  cap  to  the  lumbering  bees, 
While  the  golden  grain,  as  I  pass  along, 
Will  bend  to  list  to  my  morning  song, — 

Ha,  ha  !   away,  away  ! 

I  '11  fan  the  cheek  and  the  burning  brow 
Of  one  dearly  loved,  but  dying  now, 
And  waft  her  gentle  spirit  home 
To  a  land  of  rest,  no  more  to  roam, — 

Far,  far  awav,  away  ! 


142 


SONG    OF   Till-:  SUMMER    WIND 

I  '11  away  with  the  heart  of  the  barefoot  boy, 
The  king  of  the  brook  and  the  minnows  coy  ; 
I  '11  kiss  the  lips  of  the  laughing  girls — 
Play  hide-and-seek  in  their  tumbled  curls, — 
Ha,  ha  !   away,  away  ! 

And  then  how  cheerily  upward  I  '11  fly 
To  sweep  the  clouds  from  the  summer  sky, 
And  bid  the  moon,  in  the  stilly  night, 
Bless  loving  hearts  with  her  tender  light, — 
Ha,  ha  !   away,  away  ! 


•43 


SONG 

Deu'drop. — "  I  'M  a  little  Dewdrop, 

Round  and  bright  and  clear, 
Born  among  the  shadows  : 
Morning  found  me  here 
Laying  on  a  rose-leaf, 

Dreaming  of  the  star 
That  came  from  heaven  to  kiss  me — 

Came,  oh  !   so  very  far  ! 
As  for  life,  'twill  be  scarcely  a  minute  : 

The  naughty  sun  drinks  us  all  up  ! 
Before  we  can  fairly  begin  it, 
He  gathers  us  into  his  cup  ! 
Ah  me  !   all  our  brightness  he  drinks  from  his  cup 

Fairy. — "  I  'm  a  little  Fairy, 

Living  in  a  dell, 
Light  of  foot,  and  airy, 

Beautiful  as  well ; 
But  when  I  am  sixteen 
I  '11  be  a  fairy  belle  : 
Then  wrho  will  want  to  kiss  me  ? 

Can  anybody  tell  ? 
But  list  to  those  sweet  bells  a  minute  (!!!) 

The  fairies  in  Elf-land  at  play  ! 
I  hear  their  clear  songs  from  the  spinet — 

A  signal  to  hasten  away  : 
Good-bye  !   all  we  fairies  must  vanish  away  !" 


THE    SUNSET   BRIDGE 

BREEZY    upland,    where    the    winds    of    all    the 
sweet  Septembers 
Had  stayed  their  velvet-sandalled  feet  for  rest, 
To  watch  the  sunset  fires  grow  brighter  from  the  latent 

embers 

Their  wings  had  fanned  and  fashioned  in  the  west 
To  molten  towers  and  turrets  ; — surely  every  one  remem 
bers 

The  sunset  city  that  he  loved  the  best, 
And  hopes  sometime  to  be  its  humble  guest. 

A  lone  old  man,  a  sad  and  trembling  pilgrim,  bent  and 

hoary, 

A  worn-out  relic  of  the  vanished  years, 
The  last  of  a  long  line  of  .sturdy  yeomen,  whose  quaint 

story 

Would  weight  the  listening  eyes  with  listening  tears, 
Toiled  slowly  up  the  beaten  pathway,  till  the  sunset  glory 
Broke  full  upon  his  vision,  and  his  fears 
Gave  place  to  music  strange  to  mortal  ears. 

He  looked  beyond  the  valley  and  the  river — heard  the 

singing  ; 
Loved  voices  silenced  long  ago  were  there. 


Till':  SUNSET  BRIDGE 

He  saw  the  silver  bells  of  heaven  swinging — heard  them 

ringing  ; 

Their  music  melted  on  the  vibrant  air. 
He  saw  the  blessed  angels  beck'ning  to  him — saw  them 

bringing 

The  golden  wire,  and  weaving  it  with  care. 
At  last  the  bridge  was  finished,  staunch  and  fair. 

And  while  the  soft,   sweet  winds  were  o'er  the  sleepy 

upland  blowing, 

The  clear  Lord  sent  angelic  hands  to  guide 
The  timid,  footsore  pilgrim  to  the  home  where  he  was 

going, 
Dry  shod,  across  the  cold,  dark,  silent  tide. 

To-clay  I  see  the  ghostly  waters,  bridgeless,  ever  flowing 
Between  us  and  the  near-far  other  side — 
Unlike  the  evening  when  the  old  man  died. 


148 


FOR   A    BIRTHDAY    CALENDAR 

way  is  long,  O  Friends  ! 
But  it  is  sweet,  so  sweet, 
To  wander  hand  in  hand 

Where  overhead  the  swaying  branches  meet, 
And  birds  sing  joyous  songs,  by  soft  winds  fanned, 

And  velvet  grasses  kiss  your  wayworn  feet ; 
For  just  beyond  you,  where  the  river  bends, 
You  '11  find  the  summer-time  that  never  ends. 


149 


FACES    FROM    WONDERLAND11 

©HEN  Rip  and  Schneider  left  the  cottage  door, 

The  night  was  gruesome,  and  its  stormy  wrath 
Was  pitiless  :  the  twain  came  back  no  more. 

They  turned  their  footsteps  to  the  mountain  path 
Their  feet  had  trodden  many  a  sunny  day, 

To  find  it  black  with  darkness, — every  gnome 
A  lightning-lighted  fiend,  that  led  the  way 

To  dreamless  slumber — ne'er  to  dreams  of  home. 

So  in  this  Wonderland  :   I  sometimes  think 

These  Tritons  once  were  driven  from  their  homes 
(By  some  tempestuous  Gretchen)  when  in  drink, 

And,  guided  hither  by  the  wily  gnomes, 
Were  put  to  sleep — a  stony,  dreamless  sleep — 

A  sleep  that  knows  no  waking  :   and  we  see 
Their  sightless  eyeballs  gazing  o'er  the  deep — 

Unconscious  watchers  of  the  restless  sea. 

Take  not  thy  way  along  this  tragic  shore 

When  Night's  bat  wings  enwrap  thee,  fold  on  fold, 

For  should  these  sleepers  rouse  themselves  once  more, 
The  world  would  sav, — This  man  was  overbold  ! 


150 


O   THE    CHILDREN 

children— O  the  children  !— 
^-.p  How  dark  the  world  and  gloomy 
How  wide  and  cold  and  roomy, 
To  the  mother's  loving  heart, 
Did  not  the  breezes  waft  her 
The  songs  and  merry  laughter 
Of  the  blessed,  blessed  children  ! 

The  children — O  the  children  ! — 
How  the  sun  would  pale  his  glory, 
And  the  beautiful  in  story 

Die  out  of  all  the  lands, 
Could  they  not  hear  us  calling, 
When  the  twilight  dews  are  falling, 

Come  home,  come  home,  O  children  ! 

The  children — O  the  children  ! — 
Very  sweet  the  sacred  pages, 
Floating  down  through  all  the  ages, 

Telling  of  the  Christ-child  born 
Where  the  mild-eyed  oxen  ponder, 
With  a  sort  of  wistful  wonder, 

O'er  the  Prince  of  all  the  children  ! 


'S3 


O    THE   CHILDREN 

The  children — O  the  children  !  — 
See  them  blood-red  roses  strewing 
In  the  path  where  Christ  is  going 

To  Jerusalem  the  doomed  : 
See  them  wave  their  cool  green  banners  ! 
Hear  them  shout  their  glad  hosannas 

To  the  Saviour  of  the  children  ! 


A    TWISTED   THING 

a  whimsical  curve  of  the  grass-grown  road, 
Just  over  beyond  the  spruces, 
Lies  a  moss-embroidered  watering-trough, 

Brimful  of  the  limpid  juices 
Distilled  from  the  heart  of  the  hill  above 

By  the  gnomes  that  toil  thereunder  : 
I  can  hear  the  rush  of  their  elfin  feet, 
And  their  echo-gnome-ic  thunder. 

This  watering-trough  is  the  quaintest  thing  ! 

'T  was  carved  with  an  axe  or  hatchet 
In  the  crudest  way,  with  the  rudest  blows— 

I  doubt  if  the  wTorld  can  match  it. 
The  tooth  of  time,  or  the  axe,  has  made 

A  notch  in  the  farther  corner, 
Where  many  a  barefoot  girl  has  drank, 

And  many  a  Jacky  Horner. 

The  dear  old  log  is  a  twisted  thing — 

But  it  holds  the  sweetest  water 
That  ever  was  drank  by  beast  or  bird, 

Or  quaffed  by  son  or  daughter  : 
And  yesterday,  after  forty  years, 

I  searched  until  I  found  it — 


'55 


A    TWISTED    THING 

A  doubtful  chance,  for  the  grasses'  arms 
Were  lovingly  clasped  around  it. 

A  face  looked  up  from  the  mimic  sea — 

Alas  !   'twas  not  the  old  one  ! 
But  the  yellow  frog  at  the  farther  end 

Was  the  very  same  old  bold  one, — 
A  pop-eyed  fiend,  who  never  winked 

When  I  bent  to  quaff  the  nectar  ; — 
If  it  wasn't  that  same  old  "  cra/y  quilt," 

It  must  have  been  his  spectre. 

And  Nell,  O  Nell,  do  you  mind  the  day 

You  knelt  down  close  beside  me — 
I  never  .shall  forget  it,  sweet, 

Whatever  may  betide  me — 
And  we  bent  above  this  tell-tale  cup, 

Reflecting  untold  blisses, 
And  saw  two  faces  looking  up, 

And  kisses  chasing  kisses  ? 

A  browTn-faced,  blue-eyed,  barefoot  girl— 

The  angels — how  they  love  her  ! 
A  barefoot  boy  with  bleeding  feet, 

Her  constant,  gray-haired  lover — 
Will  search  the  paths  of  heaven  some  day 

For  such  a  nook  as  this  is, 
And  find,  perchance,  this  very  pool, 

With  all  its  wealth  of  kisses. 


'56 


BLUE    EYES 

,LUE  eyes,  laughing  merrily  ! 

Why  so  sparkling  ?  Verily, 
Two  quivers  full  of  bristling  arrows  art  thou, 

Waiting  for  thy  bow  ; — 
For  thy  bow  hath  many  strings, 
And  the  arrows  that  it  flings 
At  random,  lay  some  palpitating  heart,  now, 
Bleeding,  thou  must  know, 
Laughing  blue  eyes  ! 
Chaffing  blue  eyes  ! 
At  thy  shoe-tips  low. 

Blue  eyes  !  tender,  dutiful, 
Full  of  love-light,  beautiful, 

Why  dost  thou  ever  wave  thy  long  brown  lashes- 
Wave  them  in  my  face  ? 
For  they  reach  me  in  my  dreams, 
Interlaced  with  sunny  gleams 
From  the  queenly  soul  that  seems 
Forever  weaving  round  me  love's  light  meshes — 
Captive  to  thy  grace, 
Truest  blue  eyes  ! 
Bluest  blue  eyes  ! 
Fairest  of  thv  race  ! 


157 


bt* 
Public   Ubrftif 

.1" 


Blue  eyes  !   once  so  cheerfully, 
Now,  alas  !  so  tearfully 
Beyond  thy  narrow  prison  barriers  peering, 

Thonging  for  one  word, — 
Come  I  whence  the  cannons'  boom 
Told  of  many  a  hero's  tomb 
By  Chicamauga's  crimson  tide  appearing  : 
Deeply  them  wert  stirred, 
Tearful  blue  eyes  ! 
Fearful  blue  eyes  ! 
Trembling  like  a  bird  ! 

Blue  eyes  !  greet  me  cheerily, 
Coming  back  so  wearily, 
Thy  love-light  ever  on  my  proud  heart  beaming 

As  stars  beam  on  the  sea  : 
Nestle  closely  to  my  breast, 
While  I  gaze,  supremely  blest, 
Down  thy  crystal  depths  in  quest 

Of  love's  young  dream — for  surely  them  art  dreaming 

Dreaming,  too,  of  me — 

Mistful  blue  eyes  ! 

Wistful  blue  eyes  ! 

S\veet  as  sweet  can  be  ! 


158 


i  ^ 


BRIGHT    PASSACONAWAY 


K  some  fair  castle  on  the  Rhine, 
Or  Lurlei  of  the  rock, 
That  overlooks  the  fields  of  wine, 

The  shepherd's  homely  flock, 
You  stand,  bright  Passaconaway  ! 
Upon  the  cliffs  of  York. 

We  hear  the  wind  about  your  eaves 

Blow  inward  from  the  sea  ; 
Sometimes  a  sea-sad  tale  it  wreaves, 

A  song  without  a  key,  — 
But  still,  bright  Passaconaway  ! 

It  wrings  no  tears  from  thee. 

When  past  the  Nubble's  jaggecl  nose 
Sweeps  Equinoctial  thunder, 

And  some  great  vessel,  plunging,  goes 
The  seething  waters  under, 

You  gaze,  calm  Passaconaway  ! 
With  eyes  brimful  of  wonder. 

You  stand  serene  upon  the  heights 
Where  night's  soft  winds  are  blowing 


161 


n  RIGHT  /'ASS A  CON  A IV A  Y 

Your  flashing  eyes,  your  hundred  lights, 

A  burning  beacon  glowing, 
Invite  us,  Passaconaway  ! 

To  where  good  cheer  is  flowing'. 


HI&ENE 

that  snow-white  sheet  she  lies— 
Helene  my  beautiful !   Helene  my  true  ! 
Softly  the  morning  breaks  over  the  skies, 
Softly  regretful  stars  kiss  her  Adieu  ; — 
Lies  she  there  seeming 
So  blissfully  dreaming, — 

Fragrant  her  ripe  lips  as  breath  of  the  morn,— 
No  one  shall  lisp  her 
Name  even  in  whisper  : 
She  's  roaming  where  fairy-land  fancies  are  born 

Clustering  clouds  of  dark,  passionate  hair 

Frown  back  the  curious  beams  of  the  sun  : 
Hidden  but  meagrely,  shapely  and  rare, 

Round,  white,  soft  mysteries  wait  to  be  won  ;  — 

Seemingly  bolder, 

One  Parian  shoulder, 
Purity's  self,  dims  the  pillow  below — 

While,  thrown  above  her 

Head  (who  could  but  love  her  !) 
A  round  arm  lies  white  as  the  shimmering  snow  ! 

Parting  as  clouds  part  when  summer  winds  blow, 
Heavenly  wonders  unveiling  above, — 

163 


HELENE 

So  part  the  gauze-clouds,  revealing  below 
Opaline  mountains  in  gardens  of  love  ;  — 

Soft  undulations, 

L,ike  music's  vibrations 
Coursing  light-footed  the  silvery  strings, 

Seem  like  the  ocean 

In  jubilant  motion, 
Rocking  its  burden  of  beautiful  things  ! 

Waking  as  wake  the  young  birds  in  their  nests, 

Baby  Nell  opens  her  wondering  eyes — 
Climbs  where  the  lush  mountains  bear  on  their  crests 
Strawberries  ripe  as  the  ruddiest  skies  ; — 
There,  among  treasures 
In  bountiful  measures, 

Roguish-eyed,  cherry-lipped,  pink-footed  Nell 
Drinks  from  a  chalice 
The  king  in  his  palace 
Might  barter  his  crown  for,  and  barter  it  well ! 


164 


THE    REAPER 

was  so  warm  that  summer  day  ! 
Yet   the    hill  winds  would   play   with   the  bearded 

grasses, 

And  with  miserly  glee  toss  the  gleaming  masses 
Of  billo\vy  grain,  in  the  sun's  broad  splendor, 
Or  touch  them  with  kisses  soft  and  tender, — 

While  over  the  drowsy  lea 

Came  the  Reaper's  song,  like  a  dirge  of  doom, 
Mantling  the  bended  heads  with  gloom 
As  it  swept  o'er  the  rippling  sea  ; — 
And  the  Reaper's  eyes  were  dim, 
For  at  every  swing  of  his  circling  blade, 
The  pitying  air  bore  off  to  the  glade 

A  bar  of  his  cradle  hymn  : 
' '  In  spring  we  sow — in  autumn  reap— 
'Tis  time  for  song — no  time  to  weep — 
Sleep,  my  beloved  ! — sleep — sleep — .sleep  !" 
And  the  watchful  grasses  whispered,  "  Sleep  !" 

vSo  when  on  fields  of  strife  pursuing  Night 
Hurls  down  the  west  the  blood-red  orb  of  light, 
A  thousand  forms,  late  .sweeping  o'er  the  plain 
Where  gleaming  sickles  shook  the  crimson  rain, 

165 


THE  REAPER 


Lje  scattered,  like  the  tempest-riven  leaves — 
Columbia's  martyrs,  Liberty's  dear  sheaves  : 
And  while  in  silent  chambers  calm  they  rest, 
A  grateful  country  folds  them  to  her  breast. 


From  yonder  hillside,  where  the  trees 
Keep  watch  above  the  voiceless  village, 

And  chant  their  morning  melodies 
O'er  homes  no  vandal  hand  may  pillage, 
A  hundred  sheaves  will  spring  to  heaven's  wide  dome 
When  the  Great  Reaper  shouts  his  Harvest  Home  ! 


1 66 


"A  boy  who  gives   no  quarter  (but  takes  one  when    he  can!)" 


THE   VERY    BIGGEST   BOY 

j)O  you  want  to  see  the  biggest,  yes,  the  very  big- 

gest  boy — 

A  boy  that  Big  's  no  name  for,  his  mother's  wildest  joy  ? 
A  boy  that 's  tall 's  a  flagstaff,  as  deep  as  any  well, 
As  wide  as  any  church  door,  and  merry  as  a  bell  ? 

Here  's  your  Man  ! 

"  Do  you  want  to  see  the  brightest,  cutest  little  (no,  big  f) 

boy — 

A  boy  that 's  up  to  snuff,  you  bet  (but  not  to  maccoboy)  ? 
A  boy  that  is  so  very  old,  and  knowrs  so  very  much, 
He  can  tell  you  ho\v  old  Holland  was  taken  by  the  Dutch  ? 

Here  's  your  Man  ! 

' '  Do  you  want  to  see  the  strongest  boy — a  chap  to  do 

and  dare — 

A  boy  that  tracks  the  rabbits  and  the  foxes  to  their  lair  ? 
A  boy  that  whistles,  whittles,  and  swaps  jack-knives  every 

day — 

Who  's  as  sweet  as  any  daisy,  or  as  pinks  in  a  bouquet? 

Here  's  your  Man  ! 

"  Do  you  want  to  see  the  bravest  boy,  who  's  always  in 

the  van — 
A  boy  who  gives  no  quarter  (but  takes  one  when  he  can  ! )  ? 

169 


THE    VERY  BIGGEST  HOY 

Who  swims  the  rivers,  hunts  the  bees,  and  never  tires 

of  play — 

Who  never  growls,  or  sheds  a  tear,  no  matter  what  you  say  ? 

Here  's  your  Man  ! 

"  Do  you  want  to  see  a  boy  with  a  head  that's  full  of 

brains  ? 
(Just  look  this  way  a  minute — charge  you  nothing  for 

your  pains  !) 
A  boy  that  surely   knows  what 's  what   from   morning 

until  night, 

And  never  fights  a  battle  but  he  battles  for  the  right  ? 

Here  's  your  Man  ! 

"  If  you  wish  to  see  the  biggest  boy,  the  brightest,  and 

the  best ; 
The  boy  that  says  his  prayers  (or  ought  to  ! )  when  he 

goes  to  rest ; 
The  boy  that  means,  when  President  ('twill  not  be  very 

long  ! ) 
To  hustle  in  'The  good  time  coming,'  righting  all  the 

wrong — 

Here  's  your  Man  !" 


170 


IS   IT   NOT   STRANGE 

it  not  strange  ho\v  stealthily  To-day 
Slips  into  Yesterday  and  glides  away  ? — 
E'en  while  you  sleep  he  steals  adown  the  stair, 
Unbolts  the  ponderous  door,  and  goes — you  know  not 
where. 

No  rumbling  of  great  iron  wheels  is  heard — 
The  pulses  of  the  dreamer  are  not  stirred — 
When  the  long  train  of  flying  Yesterdays 
Halts   at   your  midnight   door — then  speeds  its  wonted 
ways. 

It  leaves  a  youthful  traveller  at  your  gate 
To  take  the  place  of  him  who  could  not  wait ; — 
The  young  To-day  walks  in  and  climbs  the  tower, 
While  yet  the  brazen  hammers  forge  the  spectral  hour. 

Morn  after  morn,  with  hand  close  clasped  in  hand, 
To-day  and  I  stroll  through  the  dewy  land, 
And  climb  the  breezy  hills,  through  shaded  ways, 
To  list  the  echoes  of  the  train  of  Yesterdays. 

But,  ah  !   how  much  of  hope,  and  love,  and  light 
Goes  with  the  chain  that  coils  into  the  night ! 

171 


SS  IT  NOT  STRANGE 

I  plead  for  passage,  but  I  plead  in  vain — 
I  part  with  each  To-day  at  threshold  of  the  train. 

I  'm  stranded  on  the  hills  ; — but  some  fair  morn 
The  bobolinks  will  sing  among  the  corn, — 
And  happy  children  in  their  happy  play 
Will  say  in  loving  tones, — He  left  us  yesterday . 


172 


THE    RIVER    BEAUTIFUL1'2 

flLENCE  .sleeps  in  tin-  valley, 
O  beautiful  stream  ! 
O  wayward  and  mystical  river  ! 

Dreaming  a  pleasant  dream 

As  the  sunbeams  on  thy  murmuring  ripples  quiver, 
And  talking  in  his  sleep — 
His  sleep  so  sound  and  deep  ! 

Dreaming  of  maidens  roaming 

Thy  banks  along, 
And  of  jets  of  sparkling  laughter 

Bursting  from  waves  of  song 

That  must  die  away  on  the  shores  of  the  dim  Hereafter — 
That  peaceful,  voiceless  sea, 
Kin  to  eternity  ! 

Silence  hath  myriad  voices, 

O  gleaming  tide  ! 
And  from  thine  enchanting  valley, 

Radiant  in  its  pride, 

They  come  to  the  cliff  \vhere  the  poet  stands,  and  shall  he 
Interpret  them  to  thee, 
Under  this  old  pine  tree  ? 

'75 


THE  RIVER    BEAUTIFUL 

"  Beautiful,  beautiful  river  !" 

The  old  pine  sighs  : 
And  the  wrinkled,  gray  old  ledges, 

Tears  in  their  mossy  eyes, 
Toss  back  an  echo  from  their  jagged  edges 
To  that  lone  sentinel 
Guarding  the  valley  well. 

Fondly  the  tall  pine  watches 

Thy  narrow  bed, 
Fearing  some  morn  to  miss  thee, 

Beautiful  silver  thread  ! 

And  ere  the  glooming  he  sends  his  shadow  to  kiss  thee 
A  soft  and  sweet  Good-night 
Till  morning's  rosy  light. 

Maples  with  crimson  blushing 

Far  down  below, 
And  distant  hillsides  climbing, 
Changed  to  a  golden  glow, — 
All  lend  a  tongue  to  that  mysterious  chiming, 
Deep  as  the  sounding  sea, 
Deep  as  their  love  for  thee  ! 

Blending  in  sweetest  music, 

The  tinkling  feet 
Of  rivulets  down-rushing 

Dance  to  thy  silver  sheet, 
While  the  rapt  sun  through  golden  rifts  is  flushing 

176 


THE  Rll'ER    lULlUTIl'UL 

Thy  face  with  heaven's  own  light : 
O  dream  too  brief,  too  bright  ! 

"  Beautiful,  beautiful  river  !" 

The  old  pine  sighs  : 
In  the  silence  my  heart  replieth, — 

"  Daughter  of  earth  and  skies, 

Farewell  !   but  at  last,  when  my  weary  spirit  flieth 
Beyond  the  chiming  stars, 
May  my  eyes  unclasp  their  bars 
To  see  thy  placid  waters  calmly  flowing 
Out   from   the   Burning   Throne,    and    down    the   valley 
glowin«- !" 


177 


YE   OLD    STONE    WALL 

1796- 

Begun  ye  Stone  Wall  round  ye  Garden  Plotte 
Below  y"  Barn — 2  Akers  thereabouts  ' ' 

'Tis  fairly  legible,  with  here  a  blot, 
And  there   a   hasty   scratch  where   "  plotte  "   had   been 

misspelled, — 
And  then — a  hundred  years  the  yellow  "  record  "  held  : 

Thanks  to  the  dry  old  garret,  where  the  rain 

Could  find  no  loophole  ;  to  the  old  hair  trunk, 
Its  brass  nails  hid  beneath  the  trash  of  years, 

And  dust,  and  spiders'  broidery — a  bunk, 
Secure  and  silent  as  King  Shtifu's  mighty  tomb. 
Wherein  the  "record"  slept  amid  the  unvexed  gloom. 

(At  the  breakfast-table) 

"  The  very  durablest  fence  in  all  the  world," 

Said  Uncle  Jerry,  "  is  a.  good  stone  wall : 
If  built  as  't  should  be,  't  lasts  f'rever,— - 

'N'  I  do'  know  any  better  time  'an  the  fall 
To  start  it   'long.      These  frosty  nights  make  workin' 

days, 
'N'    when   you  put  a  big  stone  in  its  place,   it  stays." 

178 


YE   OLD   STONE    WALL 

"'Twill   look   so    nice    and    .strong,"    said    Grandma 

Brawn  : 

"  I  like  to  see  the  broad-backed,  heavy  stones, 
I'  the  bottom  layer,  bearing  the  lesser  ones 

So  sturdily,  with  neither  frowns  nor  groans  : 
They  mind  me  of  the  burdens  ice  should  gladly  bear 
For  those  we  love — and  others — here  and  everywhere." 

"  And  if  the  \vall  is  built  of  great  big  stones," 

Said  black-eyed  Nell,  "  'twill  be  so  nice  to  climb! 
And  when  the  garden  's  full  of  sweet  green  corn, 

And  flowers,  and  fruit,  in  the  bright  summer-time, 
And  vines  are  running  over  all  the  garden  wall, 
We  '11  play  it 's  Eden — I  '11  be  Eve  before  the  fall !" 

"  Won't  it  be  jolly  fun,"  said  little  Ben, 

"  When  all  the  cows  come  swinging  home  at  night, 
To  see  their  noses  there  above  the  wall, 

Their  soft  mouths  watering  for  a  juicy  bite 
Of  all  that  corn  and  beans  ? — /  would  n't  be  a  cow 
For  anything  ! A*6>,  sir! — at  least,  I  wouldn't  now  !" 

"There  is  110  doubt  of  it,"   said  Gran'ther  Brawrn, — 

' '  The  best  of  fences  is  a  good  stone  wall ; 
And  there  is  not  a  farm  in  all  the  town 
With  rocks  more  plenty  within  easy  call  : 

L,et  us  be  duly  thankful  ! No\v  to  the  field  we  go — 

A   month's  hard  work   before  us,   e'en  till  the   driving 
snow." 

179 


R    OLD   STONE    WALL 


And  so  the  old  stone  wall  was  built  around 

"  Yp  Garden  Plotte  :"   its  massive  .stones  to-day 
Are  proudly  standing  there,  erect  and  firm — 

Some  lichens  mingled  with  their  iron  gray- 
While  all  the  blithesome,  strong,  and  willing  hearts  and 

hands 
That  built  this  deathless  wall  now  dwell  in  other  lands. 


i  So 


''A  beautiful    Nowoman's  hand 

Driving  seventeen   dripping  sea-horses" — 


NOMAN'S   LAND 

§OMEWHERE  there  's  a  wonderful  country 
Do  you  think  it  lies  over  the  deep  ? 
It  may  be  far  off  in  the  mountains  ; 
An  island,  perhaps,  fast  asleep  ; — 
Just  fancy  ! — perhaps  up  above  us, 

Beyond  the  bright  stars  and  the  blue, 
Great  rivers  and  lakes  and  green  valleys 
Are  waiting  for  me  and  for  you. 

But  how  can  we  get  there,  I  wonder  ! 

No  boatman  will  take  us  to-day  ; 
No  tally-ho  leaves  for  the  mountains  ; 

Some  siren  would  lead  us  astray 
If  we  were  to  start  off  together — 

No  compass  or  chart  to  our  hand — 
In  the  darkest  or  sunniest  weather, 

To  find  that  invisible  land. 

The  road  to  that  strangest  of  countries — 
Do  you  know  that  I  saw  it  last  night  ? 

It  may  only  be  travelled  when  shadows 
Can  dance  hand  in  hand  with  the  light. 

I  lay  on  the  rocks  by  the  ocean 
And  looked  out  far  over  the  sea, 


183 


NOMAN'S  LAND 

When  the  great  Harvest  Moon  took  a  notion 
To  come  up  and  hob-nob  with  me. 

In  ail  instant  a  flashing  of  silver — 

A  few  low  commands  from  the  Queen — 
A  crowd  of  the  nimblest  of  workmen — 

Wide  layers  of  mystical  sheen — 
Great  rollers  in  rapid  succession 

Drawn  steadily  in  from  the  sea 
By  the  steadiest  teams  of  sea-horses — 

And  the  road  was  all  ready  for  me. 

Was  there  ever  a  vision  so  splendid  ? — 

A  beautiful  Nowomau's  hand 
Driving  seventeen  dripping  sea  horses 

Post  haste  from  the  far  Neman's  L,and  ! 
She  drove  to  the  rocks  like  a  whirlwind — 

She  whistled  and  beckoned  to  me  : 
Oh  !  who  could  withstand  a  Nowoman  ! 

She  drove  like  a  flash  to  the  sea. 

What  I  saw  on  that  nocturnal  journey — 

What  I  heard  when  we  reached  Neman's  Land- 
The  Nochildren's  silvery  laughter 

While  sifting  the  silvery  sand  ; 
The  bonniest  Nomaidens  romping 

With  clouds  of  the  airiest  elves, — 
I  must  never  reveal — it 's  a  secret  !— 

You  must  2fo  there  and  see  for  vourselves  ! 


184 


THE   JOY-BELLS    RING13 

sunlight  seems  less  bright  and  clear, 
The  dreary  winter  winds  more  drear, 
More  frequent  now  the  blinding  tear, 
Since  they  are  gone. 

The  voices  of  the  birds  are  hushed  ; 
The  woods,  erstwhile  with  beauty  flushed, 
Stand  all  unrobed — their  spirits  crushed — 
Since  they  are  gone. 

The  music  that  illumed  the  air, 
And  made  the  world  so  blithe  and  fair, 
Is  voiceless  now  :   its  home  is  where 
The  loved  are  gone. 

Two  nobler  souls  ne'er  crossed  the  stream  : 
I  saw  the  boatman,  in  my  dream, 
Row  gently,  as  the  sunset-gleam 
Bathed  them  in  gold. 

Bright  forms  intangible  were  there 
To  help  them  up  the  landing  stair, 
While  unseen  music  filled  the  air — 
Their  welcome  home. 


•85 


THE   JOY- BELLS  RING 

And  now  they  hear  the  joy-bells  ring, 
They  hear  the  "  Well  done  "  of  the  King, 
And  haste  with  flying  feet  to  bring 
Their  earth-born  gifts. 

Here  loving  hearts  and  weary  feet 
Walk  slowly,  sadly  down  the  street 
That  leads  to  where  the  two  wTorlds  meet— 
The  river's  brim. 

A  down  the  vista  of  the  years 
I  see  that  pathway  paved  with  tears, 
But  know  its  footsore  pilgrims'  fears 
Will  end  in  home. 


1 86 


ASLEEP 

§EAR  tired  Mother  Earth  has  gone  to  sleep  : 
Walk  tiptoe  through  her  chamber    lest  she  waken 
Her  children  faithful  watch  above  her  keep, 
While  she  with  slumber  sweet  is  overtaken. 

Not  long  ago  a  thousand  tender  ferns 

Spread  over  her  their  wealth  of  dew-spun  laces, 

And  nestled  close  to  her  warm  heart,  where  burns 
The  fire  that  kindles  Spring-time's  sylvan  graces. 

And  when  the  blessed  Mother  longed  for  rest, 
How  soothingly  the  little  slender  grasses 

Threw  all  their  soft  green  arms  across  her  breast : 
No  wintry  blast  shall  touch  her  as  it  passes  ! 


189 


The  maples  watched  her  with  a  beaming  smile 
When  proud  October  covered  them  with  glory, 

And  gladly  doffed  their  royal  robes,  the  while 

With  them  they  made  her  bed — the  old  sweet  story 

And  yesterday  all  day  the  longing  sky 

Bent  lovingly  and  wistfully  above  her, 
While  soft    white  kisses — oh,  so  tenderly  ! 

With  sweet  insistance  placed  her  under  cover. 


190 


UNDER   THE    OLD    ELM 

this  is  June  : — these  overhanging  boughs 
Invite  us — nay,  entice  us — to  a  rest 
Upon  this  soft,  green,  fragrant  mother-breast, 
Where  we  may  watch  the  sweet  home-coining  cows 
Wind  clown  the  hill,  and  listen  to  the  vows 
We  have  no  right  to  hear  from  that  small  nest 
That  swings  above  us,  while  the  waning  west 
Breathes  benedictions  on  our  throbbing  brows. 
Here  we  will  dream  the  twilight  hours  away 
Beneath  this  ample  firmament  of  leaves, 

And  listen  to  the  whirr  of  unseen  wings 
Within  the  shadows,  while  the  soft  airs  play 

The  songs  our  mother  sung,  that  time  nor  thieves 
Can  filch  from  mem'ry's  storehouse — Hark  !  she 
sines  ! 


191 


SPRING    IS    COMING 

xCKjNOW  in  the  meadow  and  snow  on  the  hill ; 

5^5   Snow  in  the  woodlands,  deep,  breathless,  and  still  ; 
Snow  on  the  pond  and  the  ice-covered  brook, 
And  all  the  world  over,  wherever  we  look  ; — 

But  voices  are  calling  from  over  the  ridge — 

L,et  us  hasten  away  across  valley  and  bridge, 

And  find  what 's  in  store  for  our  ears  and  our  eyes, 
On  the  hills,  in  the  woods,  ere  the  glory-light  dies. 

Were  ever  the  steps  of  the  west  winds  so  fleet  ? 

Were  ever  soft  winds  from  the  far-lands  so  sweet  ? 
Just  list  to  the  stories  they  bring  from  Lahore, 
Japan,  and  the  islands  they  '11  visit  no  more — 

No  more  till  they  circle  the  earth  on  the  wing, 

And  come  again,  o'er  the  same  path,  with  the  Spring  : 
Soft  measures  they  sing,  and  the  whispering  pines 
Repeat  to  our  ears  their  melodious  lines. 

But,  hark  !   on  the  hill  over  there  in  the  west 
I  hear  the  hoarse  caw  of  the  crows  :   'tis  the  best 
The  black  fellows  can  do  to  express  their  delight, 
For  they   never  could   sing   much  :    black   cannot   be 
white  ! 


A'C   AS"    COMING 


And  just  now,  in  that  old  hollow  tree  on  ahead, 
A  drowsy  red  squirrel  turned  over  in  bed, 

And,  yawning,  said,  "  Mother,  wake  up  in  a  wink  ! 

For  the  beautiful  Spring-time  is  coming,  I  think." 

And  if  we  stand  still  where  the  snow  is  not  deep, 
We  shall  feel  the  warm  ground  where  the  daffodils  sleep 
Just  trembling  and  aching  to  open  the  door 
And  let  the  imprisoned  ones  leap  to  the  fore  : 
And  all  the  small  people  that  live  in  the  ground 
Have  slept  their  bright  eyes  out,  and  long  for  the  sound 
Of  the  feet  of  the  Spring,  as  she  comes  o'er  the  hills 
To  touch  the  .spring-locks  and  unfetter  the  rills. 

Did  you  see  me  just  now  put  my  ear  to  the  bark 

Of  that  great  maple  tree  ?  —  Well,  inside,  in  the  dark, 

You  can  hear,  step  by  step,  up  the  ladder,  the  floods 

Of  sweet  juices  climb  sturdily  up  to  the  buds  : 
And  —  oh,  man-el  of  Spring-time  !  oh,  man-el  of  birth  !  — 
Every  wonderful  germ  in  the  womb  of  the  earth 

Springs  to  light,  clothed  in  beaut)-  and  gladness,  to 
sing 

With  ineffable  joy  the  swift  coming  of  Spring. 


THE    SPINNING-WHEEL   AT   REST 

THE    DAY'S   WORK    DONE 

v  day  we  heard  it  humming 
L^ike  softly  falling  snow, 
And  busy  feet  were  coming, 

Going,  to  and  fro, 
One  hand  upon  the  whirling  wheel, 
One  playing  with  the  whirring  steel. 

All  day  we  heard  it  spinning  : 

Its  song  of  love  and  cheer 
Was  sweet  from  the  beginning  : 

But  listen  !   you  shall  hear 
Another  voice,  as  clear  and  low 
As  songs  from  roses  when  they  blow. 

All  day  the  sweet-voiced  spinner 
And  her  wheel  sing  soft  and  low  : 

Warm  love-light  burns  within  her — 
Her  cheeks  like  roses  glow  : 

The  tea-kettle  takes  up  the  song, 

And  .shakes  his  cap  with  laughter  long. 


194 


NOTES 

1  The  Old  Stone  Bridge — Page  23 — A  bridge  over  the  picturesque  Ash- 
uelot  River,  in  the  town  of  Gilsuni,  N.  H. 

-The  Return — Page  41 — In  the  early  years  of  the  Rebellion,  enlistments 
for  the  Union  army  were  usually  made  for  "three  years." 

zSf>ecd  the  Going — Welcome  the  Coming — Page  51 — During  the  years 
immediately  succeeding  the  Rebellion — "the  reconstruction 
period" — the  newspapers  of  the  South  were  full  of  (perhaps 
pardonable)  bitterness;  and  the  "broken  words"  of  the  dying 
year  were  but  echoes  from  their  editorial  and  news  columns. 

*A  Portrait  from  the  Sea — Page  76 — An  exact  reproduction  of  a  pebble 
found  by  the  author  among  hundreds  of  tons  of  variegated 
stones  on  Pebbly  Beach,  York,  Me. 

^Anniversary  Poem — Page  101 — Read  at  the  celebration  of  the  seventy- 
fifth  anniversary  of  Thetford  (Vt.)  Academy,  June  28,  1894. 
"Page  106 — Hiram  Orcutt,  LL.  IX,  principal  of  the  academy  from 
1843  to  1856.  He  was  present  on  this  occasion,  at  the  age  of 
eighty,  in  good  health,  and  made  an  entertaining  after-dinner 
speech  at  the  banquet. 

~  Two  Apples — Page  in — The  illustrations  of  this  poem  are  used  by  the 
kind  permission — "Eve,"  of  the  Berlin  Photographic  Co.,  of 
New  York,  and  "  Tell,"  of  E.  C.  Allen  &  Co.,  of  Augusta,  Me. 

*A  Hundred  Years  Ago — Page  119 — Written  for  the  Centennial  Anni 
versary  of  the  Congregational  Church,  in  Newport,  N.  H.,  Oct. 
28,  1879. 

'•'Page  119 — In  June,  1766,  eight  young  men,  five  having  families, 
arrived  in  Newport  for  permanent  settlement.  The  next  morn 
ing  (Sunday)  they  met  under  a  pine  tree  for  worship.  Since 
that  day  the  Congregationalists  have  never  permitted  a  Sunday 
to  pass  without  public  religious  services. 

'95 


NOTES 

^Spirit  of  Lore—  Page  136— This  hymn  is  adapted  to  the  tune  "Fad 
ing,  still  fading" — which  will  explain  certain  peculiarities  of 
metrical  construction. 

"Faces  from  Wonderland — Page  150 — All  these  faces  are  exact  photo 
graphic  reproductions  of  actual  rocks  on  the  magnificent  coast 
of  York  Beach,  Me.,  and  all  within  a  few  minutes'  walk  of  each 
other.  And  there  are  others.  It  is  indeed  a  Wonderland  for 
those  who  have  "  eyes  to  see." 

l-The  River  Beautiful — Page  175 — "Sugar  River,"  at  Newport,  N.  H., 
the  exquisite  stream  that  leads  the  waters  of  Sunapee  I,ake  to 
the  Connecticut,  a  distance  of  twenty  miles ; — so  called  by  the 
early  settlers  because  of  the  great  maple  forests  on  its  tribu 
tary  hills. 

oy-Bells  Ring — Page  185— Mr.  and  Mrs.  William  K.  Stevens,  of 
Portland,  Me. — long  residents  of  Concord,  N.  H. 


196 


DATE  DUE 


GAYLORD 


MTEO  IN  I)    S    A 


A     000  561  313 


